


Aestheticism

by Rawks



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Accidental Voyeurism, Buonamico, Dom/sub, Dyslexia, Endgame Merthur, Fetish, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Happy Ending, Hierarchy, Homework, Immortal Merlin, Jealousy, M/M, Magic Revealed, Marking, Masturbation, Nudity, Painting, Possessive Behavior, Ranks, Revelations, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Sexual Experimentation, Voyeurism, posing, warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 71,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawks/pseuds/Rawks
Summary: Arthur plays the intricate game of rank and favours to maintain his status among the older Knights of Camelot, by posturing, boasting, and carefully choosing women to bed. A famous painter, Buonamico, is invited by King Uther himself to create portraits for the royal family. Avoiding the game of ranks entirely, Merlin is invited to spend time with this charming man in his private quarters. Unbeknownst to Merlin, Arthur is watching...





	1. Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on the beautiful [artwork by Whimsycatcher](http://whimsycatcher.tumblr.com/post/161667625703), which served as my great inspiration throughout this work. You can find the piece at the chapter where it is featured! It is the first time I have completed the Reverse Bang, and it was both amazing and terrifying at once. 
> 
> A fair warning to readers; this work contains a budding relationship between Merlin and an original character, which features explicitly sometimes. If that is not your thing, then this fic might not be for you. As stated in the tags, the endgame is Merthur. 
> 
> With my deepest thanks to Pelydryn for beta reading this long work and supporting me along the way (that pesky IRL stuff), and Jelly for cheerleading! A massive thanks to Narlth and Side_Steppings for organizing the Reverse Bang and helping me with extended time needed to finish the work.
> 
> Note at the start: There was a real medieval painter called Buonamico, who served as inspiration for a play. This story bears no relation to this real person or play whatsoever. We only adopted the name. This is a Canon AU where Morgana stayed in Camelot and Gwaine accepted his noble rank of knight for a good position.
> 
>  **By Whimsycatcher**  
>  I feel beyond blessed to have had Rawks claim this art prompt of mine. It was a treat to help brainstorm, and then to read their progress along the way. The finished fic is so much more than I could've ever dreamed up! I'm delighted my drawing inspired such a long and marvelous piece of writing. Most people know me to be obsessed with drawing Merlin's features, so it's no surprise that I don't tire of reading about them either! Well, I was truly spoiled by how much this story is focused around his beauty (inside and out). The style of writing is beautiful too! There are scenes that take my breath away... Plot and porn a plenty! All of it enticing, artful, brilliant! Rawks gave my faceless artist!OC such an intriguing identity, and an important part in the glorious build-up to Merthur (alongside other dramatic happenings in the castle). There's pining and jealousy, twists and turns, magic and bad-assery! This fic is one I will savour again and again and again...

It was a warm, sunny day in late spring when a messenger rushed through the market in Camelot filled with trading merchants from Kent, carrying a most important letter to the guards at the castle gates. He was stopped by a patrol of knights heading out to secure a skirmish against Saxons in the South, Prince Arthur in the lead on a dark, powerful warhorse.

“What is your business?” Arthur demanded. He was in full plate armour, his red Pendragon cloak billowing behind on a cool breeze. On his right upper arm, a ribbon was tied by a serving girl named Beth, to bring him luck.

The messenger was filthy and exhausted, his frothing horse much in a similar state. “I carry an urgent letter from Buonamico, my lord, directed to the King.” The horse shook its head in agitation, and a blotch of froth ended up on Arthur’s saddle.

Arthur looked over his shoulder at his group of knights. Sir Bedivere was eyeing the messenger with contempt befitting his station as a senior knight, while Sir Kay lifted an eyebrow to see what Arthur would do. Behind them, Merlin looked on in confusion, stroking the mane of his jittery horse.

“I’ll take that,” Arthur said and snatched the letter out of the messenger’s hand.

“But I must deliver it _directly_ ,” the messenger sputtered indignantly and reached for the letter.

“ _I’m_ the king’s son, and you will address me with ‘sire’, or I will see to it that you get to see the insides of our dungeons _directly_!” He held the letter out of reach and glared the man down.

“Pass him a copper then,” Sir Leon said with a deep voice. “We haven’t got time for frivolous delay.”

Arthur shot him an angry look and rode his horse several feet forward, blocking the path of the impatient knights. “I’ll decide that after I read the letter,” Arthur said and reached for the seal.

“A copper?! But I rode all the way from Deorham… _sire_.” The messenger corrected himself at the very last moment.

Holding the letter up, Arthur unfolded the paper to find an urgent request for help, paranoid words revealing a hostile move from a local lord in Deorham against his person. He was being followed and risked losing his materials and his life, if he was not directly escorted back to Camelot as Uther’s personal guest by royal invitation.

“We are going to rescue this man,” Arthur announced and barked over the anticipated groans of the knights. “He is to be received as an honourable guest of my father, and you will treat him as such, or face the consequences. My father spoke his name last night at the feast. If you were too drunk to listen, that is only a fault of your own!”

The messenger looked desperately unhappy, and the horse was in need of a rest, kicking at one of the people behind it and missing a young girl’s face by mere inches.

“A silver piece for your trouble, now be off with you!”

“But I—”

“Merlin, remind this man how often I repeat myself? I can’t be bothered. We march!”

Sir Kay spat on the ground and put his horse into motion. Sir Owain’s large horse was steered to almost completely push the messenger out of the way, kicking at the messenger’s legs as he went. They would fight an uprising today, and Arthur was upset that the men had drunk themselves into oblivion the night before. Leon was barely awake, and Kay stunk of piss and vomit.

The only knight who had managed to put on an annoying cheerful attitude was Sir Gwaine, their newest addition. Though a noble lord, Uther had quickly discovered that Gwaine had fallen out with his family. Arthur had had a row with his father about needing men on the battlefield, and a nobleman’s son with such skill on the tourney grounds could hardly be denied a place, even if it risked discrediting the status of Camelot. And so Gwaine was accepted at half the wages of a normal knight.

To Arthur’s surprise, Gwaine had accepted his situation with a shrug. Gwaine knew that without a backing of his family’s army, if called upon, his weight mattered far less than the other noble families. Besides, all he needed coin for was drinking and gambling. Blessed with a natural charm and a sharp disdain for his family home, he didn’t look down on wearing the tattered gear of fallen knights, bits and pieces here and there painted and enamelled with different symbols and family crests, and even the name of someone’s lover, half faded on his blue-metal shoulder guard. It was a spectacle much discussed. Uther’s task for Arthur was clear; send Gwaine onto the battlefield first.

Arthur’s horse strode through the market square. The prince was inattentive of the people and averted his gaze. He needed to get out of the city and into the open, to clear his mind. He needed to strategise and prove to his knights that he was still their leader. Each time they went out, he needed to prove it to them again and again—without reminders, they easily forgot and were prone to disobedience, drinking and debauchery. Then again, so was he.

“My lord.” Merlin rode up to him once they were out of the city at last and heading towards the southern woodlands. “The messenger insisted speaking with Uther. I told two guards to escort him through and to make sure he doesn’t disturb your father’s morning meeting.”

Arthur shot him a dark look. “Do you _never_ listen?!”

“I’m sorry, sire.” Merlin lowered his head. “You told me to guard the rear today. If I had taken any more time…”

“We’re not even through the Darkling Woods, Merlin,” Arthur complained.

“You said yourself I never take your orders seriously,” Merlin threw back at him.

Arthur sighed, exasperated. “Did you tell the guards that we are already headed there? It’s on our way after all.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said. “The only thing I don’t know is whether your father would want you to quell the skirmish first or guard his personal guest. The letters exchanged with King Alined demanded clearly that he be treated specially.”

Arthur shot him a sideways glance. “So you _were_ paying attention?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, a gesture Arthur would have to punish if the other knights saw.

With a sigh, Arthur conceded and made his decision. “We will gather my father’s guest first, and he will receive a personal guard. Then we go to battle.”

Risking losing territory or facing his father’s wrath for a personal slight, those were the options before him. Arthur wasn’t certain he was making the right decision. Either way, the skirmish was already in progress and there was nothing to be done about that. If they arrived on the battlefield late, he might find the enemy exhausted. It would mean that a great number of peasants would have perished, their defenses weak and homes destroyed, but Arthur knew that his father did not care. Not as long as land hadn’t been lost in the end.

Arthur bitterly hated himself for the cowardly move, but he spurred on his horse and set the pace for the others.

**

They rode into the small village the next morning after a chilly night that left the men stiff and listless. This village was the place mentioned in the letter, and Arthur had expected to find a proper establishment, not a collection of rickety wooden homes, crossed by muddy tracks in a clearing, overrun with naked children so dirty it was hard to distinguish them by sight or scent from the pigs they clearly kept. Arthur held a hand over his mouth and nose until they reached the largest homes in the centre of the village.

A dirty crowd of people stood around the inn, listening to heated words coming from one of the rooms inside. Three of the observers were clearly druids, with tattooed markings on their arms and wearing long, coarse cloaks. They bolted at the sight of the approaching knights, and Sir Caradoc and Sir Bedivere sent their horses into a gallop to slay them.

Arthur didn’t stop them, instead dismounting next to the villagers and shooting Merlin a glance to look after his horse.

Merlin, of course, did no such thing and was soon peering over Arthur’s shoulder at the spectacle of a man refusing to open the door. The innkeeper, an old white-haired woman, was smashing pottery at the door, yelling at the man to pay or leave. Several of the villagers had taken shovels and rakes with them to use if necessary.

“Stand aside,” Arthur said with a loud voice, throwing his cloak aside for effect as he stepped forwards. The commoners looked at him stupidly, but gave him the berth his cloak and plate armour demanded.

“He ain’t leavin’ the house,” one of the peasants said. Arthur saw that he was missing several teeth and looked undernourished. “For s-sev’ral days now.”

Sir Leon and Sir Kay came to stand beside them. Sir Gwaine was holding onto the reins of the horses and bargaining with one of the local farm girls for some food.

“You’re not going to put up with that, are you, sire?” Kay muttered, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“We should hear the man’s side first.” Leon looked down at the villagers and shoved a young boy, who was trying to push himself between the crowd to see, aside with his elbow.

“In the name of Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, I command you to open this door at once!” Arthur shouted. He wasn’t going to let his knights dictate his moves for him. Even if most of them were older, some by over a decade, he was still their commander.

“Ah, Prince Arthur of Camelot!” the voice yelled. It was marked by a heavy accent that Arthur couldn’t place. “At last, my saviour!”

From the hallway, he could hear Merlin suppress a snort. He shot Merlin a quick glare and shouted, “Open the damned door and pay the lady for your stay!” A large wooden beam was shoved aside, causing a great ruckus on the other side of the door.

At last, it opened to reveal a tall man with long brown hair past his shoulders and a dashing smile of straight, white teeth. He had dark brown eyes and a clear moustache, but only the hint of a beard. His clothing was set in the style of the southern countries, thin trousers made of cloth with a decorated dress over it to the knees, held together by a belt made of soft leather. He wore a cape, thrown half over one shoulder, and it was richly embroidered with beautiful patterns.

By all accounts, and despite Arthur’s innate hatred of impractical clothing, Arthur expected this man to be nothing less than an aristocrat. Which was why the following words greatly surprised him.

“I would pay, sire, but I haven’t the coin. You see, I paid a group of men for protection, but they ran away! My name is Buonamico. Bwo-na-mee-co. I am expected at the court of Camelot.”

Beside him, Sir Kay began to roar with laughter at the pretentious man. Arthur kicked him in the shin and took a step forward. Even if he wasn’t a nobleman, he needed to be treated in a way that befit a guest of Uther’s invitation. “Then we shall pay for the room of course. Now gather your bags. We’re leaving at once.”

“My bags, sir?” Buonamico blinked innocently at him.

“Well, what have you got then? And it’s ‘sire’, not ‘sir’. Be sure to remember it. I won’t say that a second time.”

“Of course, sire.” The man beamed at him, unperturbed. “You won’t be disappointed. I will just pack the rest of my belongings into the cart. The weather is _magnifico_ , isn’t it? If it rains we must stop, yes. I will be ready soon!”

The door shut in their faces, and Arthur was left to pay the old woman what she was owed—he was certain that she lied about the amount, but it was just coppers after all—while the knights made for the nearest brewer and Merlin looked on with a shadow of amusement on his face.

“What’s so damned funny?” Arthur asked him.

“Nothing, sire.” Merlin corrected his expression and pulled the bag off his shoulder, obviously pretending to search for something of great importance among its contents.

“ _Mer_ lin!”

He looked up from his faux-search and the corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m just expecting the reception at our Royal Hall, and…” Merlin swallowed and looked away.

“And what?”

Merlin shrank down and held his bag close. “And how the efforts of our rescue bring a man to your father’s table who might be his very opposite in speech, style, and demeanor. It could be very… interesting.”

“You’re laughing at the expense of my father enduring a cooky guest, are you?”

“No, sire,” he said loudly, but the way he wasn’t meeting Arthur’s eyes said enough.

Placing a gloved hand on Merlin’s shoulder, he shook him gently. “I’ve made up my mind. Just to ensure we’re not dealing with a fraud here, you can help him pack. Learn what you can, Merlin. Report to me before departure.”

Merlin looked adequately shocked and punished, which pleased him. Arthur flung his cloak back and followed his knights in search of a drink.

**

Merlin had no idea how everything had become such a mess. He had spent hours helping Buonamico pack and had made two conclusions: first, this man was distracted within seconds by everything he saw and did. Second, judging by the materials, wood canvasses, pigments and brushes, he was most definitely a painter, and that likely meant much more work ahead.

A painter wasn’t finished within days. Uther’s threat of having the royal family’s portraits done had been known for years. Apparently Arthur and Morgana had reached the age Uther deemed fit for them to be immortalised.

That meant Buonamico would have to live at Camelot for some time, and that didn’t please Merlin one bit. Between helping Gaius, serving Arthur, and studying Magic, he almost had no time to himself except the late evenings. Now he would have to adjust his schedule again, most likely. If he revealed how much he dreaded the extra workload to Arthur, he would certainly be given the task. It was a mess.

While the knights indulged themselves in drink and groping the visiting noble women during Camelot’s frequent feasts, hands occasionally straying to the skirts of the servants, Merlin always made it a rule to stay away from those fancies.

These feasts always went the same way. Some underqualified musical performance barely entertained the noble guests, who only came for the rich foods and imported wines. Once the entertainment was done, Arthur would move to the lower tables and bond with the knights and the guests. From that moment on, Merlin’s help wasn’t required anymore. In fact, he had learned that he stood in the way of this or that serving girl refilling Arthur’s goblet until he took her to his room, or any room, later that night.

The servants had frowned at Merlin for staying at Arthur’s side throughout the evenings upon his first weeks at Camelot. He had maintained that it was his duty, until the serving girls had pushed him out of the way and flaunted their pale skin at the prince, in the hopes of his favour for the evening. Merlin didn’t trust them very much.

In hindsight, Merlin was satisfied with the arrangement. It offered him an hour or two of privacy before sleep. It was good. Except that it wasn’t. Merlin had buried his crush away with the rest of his personal feelings long ago and now served Arthur normally. As normally as one could for being a powerful sorcerer in the central hub of the magic persecution.

He sighed loudly when the last of Buonamico’s bags was loaded onto the cart, the leather cover firmly bound on top.

“You are not allowed to speak?” the man asked, leaning against the doorpost of the inn and giving him a friendly smile. He was playing with a small silver box between his fingers and watching Merlin do the work. The bright colours of his dress and cape made him stand out significantly among the poor villagers. Nevertheless, Merlin wasn’t fooled. This man was poor. Or at least pretended to be.

“I am, sir,” Merlin answered simply.

“I must say, I am impressed. Your king maintains very firm discipline.”

Merlin looked around. Two knights were chasing pigs, Sir Gwaine had disappeared with some village girl, and the rest were boisterous around the local seller of honey ales and wineskins. Sir Bedivere was still gloating about killing one of the druids. Merlin marveled at the word ‘discipline’ and shrugged. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, please call me Buonamico,” he said, pushing away from the door frame and advancing on him. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Merlin stepped back and allowed the man to check the work. ‘Help’ was a useless term now that everything had already been done. “Okay, Bonna… Mico?”

“Yes!” the man said happily and clapped Merlin on the back. “Or just Mico. It’s perfectly fine. What do you want to know about me?”

Merlin grinned nervously and licked his lips. He noticed that the man was wearing an earring in his left ear, and he found it remarkably odd. “Can you tell me who it was that was chasing you? It said in your letter…”

The painter rubbed his moustache flat. There were blotches of paint on his fingers, Merlin noticed, transfixed for a moment. “Hmm, yes, they were scoundrels from the court of Alined, Lord of Deorham!” Even though the foreign man had an accent, Merlin understood him perfectly and admired his knowledge of their language. “They knew I had painted a beautiful, splendid portrait of the king, and they took their horses and chased me here. These ugly souls took all the money I had.”

“The money the king commissioned you with?” Merlin stared, aghast.

“The commission, yes, and all the money I had,” Buonamico said, looking fatigued and pitiful. “Art is a special trade, you know? No one really appreciates it. They say thanks, but they don’t really mean it. They only want what they are getting and forget that you worked hard for it. You know?”

Merlin bit his lip. “I suppose I do,” he said, feeling bold.

“Thank you,” Buonamico said and smiled easily. “I will say thank you to you for packing my materials. I’m not like the other nobles. So here, you can keep this.” He took Merlin’s hand and pressed the small silver box into it.

“What is it?”

“My last wealth. It’s not much. I could give it to the innkeeper woman, but she wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He shrugged and offered Merlin a cheeky smile.

Merlin snorted quietly and found himself smiling back. Perhaps this man wasn’t so bad after all. He had made Arthur spend coin without working up a sweat. And he valued hard work.

He turned the box over before finding a small lock. It was probably a small powder box, now emptied. It clicked upon opening. Inside were several small flecks of gold leaf. Merlin’s eyes widened. “But this is _gold_ ,” he said, trying to keep his voice low.

“Yes,” Buonamico said and tilted his head. “I know. I use it in my art a lot. If your king Pendragon wants me to use gold leaf, he will have to pay for the materials. This is not enough for me to do anything with. It’s very thin, won’t buy you much. You can have it, get something nice.”

Merlin closed the box and stared at it. The kindness of this stranger did something to him. He wasn’t just a poor boy from a village or a servant to be shoved aside without notice. He wasn’t a sorcerer in hiding. Not right now. There were no strings attached, and someone was kind to him. The liberation overwhelmed him.

When he looked up, he was met with an intent stare. “I can’t accept this,” Merlin said, holding his hand out, the box square on his palm.

Buonamico playfully took several steps back and put his hands behind him. “Well you must. Your prince is returning, so we will be going. You better hide it before the others see. They will take it from you.”

Merlin knew it was true. And indeed Arthur and the other knights were returning, sloshed and restless, eager to fight some Saxons. The prince gave Merlin a hard look of inquiry. Merlin nodded to him and said to no one in particular, “We’re ready to head out.” Arthur accepted Merlin’s silent report and mounted his warhorse.

The last one to return to the horses was Sir Gwaine, stumbling out of the young farmer woman’s home, and he was punished for it by riding at the very back, with Merlin and Buonamico.

Merlin was rather sure that Gwaine had done that on purpose.

“They ride into battle with their tongues rich with ale and their bellies full of humour,” the knight said idly to Merlin, tossing him an apple.

On the cart behind them, pulled by Merlin’s horse, Buonamico sighed meaningfully. “Armour doesn’t protect against stupidity from within.”

Gwaine threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t let them hear you say that. You’re still under all our protection after all.”

Merlin bit into the apple. It was soft and mealy, but it was food, so he ate it. “Stupid responses can arise from fear. I think fear is a very clever response to the Saxon uprising. They are a courageous tribe, and the knights are drinking to their fallen friends and comrades from the previous battles.”

The two men quietened at Merlin’s words, and they rode on in silence for a while. They could smell the battle before they arrived, the scent of blood and smoke thick in the spring air.

When they stopped at a hilltop, Arthur gathered the knights around and told Merlin to stay back together with Sir Owain, who was still recovering from a hamstring injury, and protect their guest. The other knights chuckled and sneered at Owain, as he was unwillingly spared the battle.

Buonamico climbed off the cart and looked down at the valley before them. There were several plumes of smoke marking where the previous border outposts once stood. Spears lay abandoned, and the remaining troops were stuck in hand-to-hand combat in mossy grass, where footing was hard to find and strewn bodies became ankle traps.

Within moments, five of Arthur’s knights had lifted their banners, the red Pendragon flags high in the air. Sir Gwaine’s horse was positioned in the front, holding a sharp spear. They had all put on their helmets and let out a war cry as they descended on horseback to join the battle. Arthur overtook Gwaine, so that he rode in front, a small round shield on his arm and his sword unsheathed in the other.

Merlin wished desperately he could be on the battlefield to protect the prince. But with Buonamico and Sir Owain beside him, as well as potential brigands in the surrounding bushes, Merlin had no choice but to stand on the hill and watch from afar.

Buonamico seemed vastly interested. “Where are your archers? Why don’t you use spears or lances?”

“Too late for that,” Sir Owain said unhelpfully.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. He should dismount and show Buonamico the courtesy of lowering himself to the same position, but from here he had a better vantage point. “Our crossbows won’t help in a battle that is underway already. The enemy and our allies stand too close together. Reloading is too slow. And the knights stopped using traditional bows in full plate, because they can’t aim straight.”

“So, this is strategy, yes?”

He scoffed. They charged in plate worth thousands of gold, to save acres of land that didn’t produce food, simply for the ink lines on the large leather maps to work in their favour. There was nothing that they did for the people here. Most of the peasants had little to defend themselves with, except their large numbers. Men and their sons lay dead and dying on the fields soaked in blood, and the army of Saxons, and their sharp, well-crafted weapons, had mowed them down like warm butter.

“You are a silent boy,” Buonamico remarked and crossed his arms. “Do you have sisters?”

Concentration broken, Merlin turned to regard the painter. “What?”

Buonamico smirked, flashing a straight row of teeth and pulling dimples into his cheek. “Do you enjoy watching the battle?”

Merlin regarded him curiously and pulled his attention back to what was happening below. He didn’t want to answer to this man. Not when his heart was in his throat, like it always was, when Arthur fought and the situation was entirely out of his control. The Saxons were indeed tired, like Arthur had predicted. The mounted knights slew many of them and raised courage in the blood of the surviving locals.

Within an hour, the battle was decided. The few Saxons who managed to flee were hunted down by the knights still on horseback, and the others walked up to the hill, ready to eat and rest. One or two of the knights remained behind to empty the pockets of the fallen or take some other souvenirs. Merlin hadn’t taken his eyes off Arthur once during the battle and was elated to see him strolling up the hill, bloodied, muddied and with part of his cloak burnt, wiping his sword on a piece of cloak taken from a Saxon’s back.

With pride in his heart, Merlin ran down the hill and stopped in front of the prince. He nodded to Arthur, wordlessly, because he knew the prince would be tired and then ran on to collect the dismounted horses of the knights. He hated battles and wars. Especially needless ones. But he couldn’t help the sharp sense of pride burning in his chest for Arthur, his knights, and for Camelot.

**

The feast was underway and the victorious knights were decorated with honours, even Sir Owain, which of course required a large celebration. The nobles and masters of the greater guilds who lived in the city had brought their wives and families and were all getting masterfully drunk.

Arthur sat at his father’s right side and listened to Buonamico’s plans for the royal portraits. The painter was seated at the most privileged seat at the high table, closest to both Arthur and Uther. Merlin refilled Arthur’s glass with wine, and Arthur shot him an angry look.

Merlin had been right. Uther didn’t like this man. He didn’t engage in words with him much, simply approving or denying his suggestions for the manner and style for the upcoming portrait sessions. Whether his father had made up his mind upon hearing the man’s finances or his joyous approach to all things, Arthur wasn’t certain.

“Would you like to drink something else, sire?” Merlin asked softly from behind his chair.

Arthur turned to him. “Bring me some ale. No, ask Beth to bring me ale.”

Merlin stood still for several seconds, his hands firmly around the wineskin. Just as Arthur looked up to meet his gaze, Merlin turned away with a ‘Yes, sire’ and disappeared down the servants’ entrance.

Pushing his chair back, Arthur excused himself and strolled down the table. A nobleman’s daughter named Maybelle was giving him a seductive look from across the table. But her father, a fabric salesman, was a strict man and had never let the girl leave his side at any of the feasts. If he had, Arthur would certainly have taken her up to his room.

As it was, he would show Beth favour today. She had blessed him before he left, and it was high time too. She was one of the newer serving girls, one he hadn’t had yet. While not all of the servants were up for fun, Beth had taken her time to make her interest known. After Arthur would have his way with her, she would most likely turn her attention to one of the knights. The pressure was always on him to let the men know who was in favour or out of favour. There, his status was unquestioned.

And Arthur played his part to reaffirm his status. During the last feast, it was a nobleman’s recently widowed sister, whose skin was pale as snow. Still grieving for her husband, she had been very receptive, warm and wet, and they hadn’t exchanged more than three words during the whole process. Though she was clearly beautiful, the whole ordeal had left him wanting.

The feast before that, it was the wife of a rich tradesman who had passed out at the feast and left his woman unguarded. Although she was nearly ten years Arthur’s senior, she had followed him out at a mere tilt of his head, and they had finished the job somewhere against a wall, before even reaching Arthur’s room. Gwen had caught them at it and had passed without so much as a glance. Later, when Arthur tried to offer her a jewel to stay quiet, she had refused and instead swore her secrecy. He hadn’t understood it much, but if she wouldn’t tell anyone, he was appeased. Everyone knew Gwen could be trusted.

Soon after Arthur had sat down at the lower table next to Sir Caradoc and Sir Owain, Beth stopped by with a tankard of ale and placed it before him. Then she boldly sat on his lap and pressed her breasts against him. She had decorated her loose, golden hair with wild flowers, and her youthful smile was pretty. He knew the men had their eyes on her. If they were not occupied with battles and training sessions, the men easily got listless. Between spending time with willing servants and gambling their money away, the latter was definitely the worse option.

“Your charm worked miracles,” he told her and picked up his tankard before she could get her face too close. He took a large swig of ale and tried to ignore the way Sir Caradoc was trying to stare into Beth’s blouse.

“It should have, my lord. I blessed it after all.” Her cheeks were rosy with anticipation of the night ahead. With the knights victorious, Arthur had every reason to take her upstairs.

He lifted an arm around her waist and held it with a light squeeze. It gave her courage enough to put her arm around his shoulder and lean in. “Are you saying I have no skill in battle?” he teased.

“Oh no!” she cried out. “That’s not what I meant.”

He deflated slightly at her lack of a witty retort, but he couldn’t blame her. She was young after all. “Where were you born?”

“In the city, my lord,” she replied and bit her lip.

He had to admit she was very pretty. Her grey eyes had specks of blue in them and her skin was fair. She was playing with the hem of his shirt shyly and he saw that her nails had a poor quality to them, likely from malnourishment at an early age or from hard work in the kitchens. “Well, let us find a window and you can point it out to me,” he said and slapped her thigh.

“Probably the brothel.” Sir Bedivere snorted into his cup, probably thinking Arthur couldn’t hear.

“Still a bed less used than your mother’s,” Arthur shot back and the other knights hooted their delight.

Sir Bedivere glared at first but then joined the chuckles. “At least I’m sure not to bed any brothers and sisters, with my home so far away.” He cheered his glass to Sir Caradoc and several other knights who hailed from the city and nearby keeps.

“Come,” Arthur said, uninterested in where the discussion was leading.

Beth stood up from his lap and was at the door in seconds, holding her skirts and glancing over her bared shoulder excitedly.

Arthur stood for a moment and observed her, finished the rest of his ale and showed her out.


	2. Impressions

The castle was buzzing with news about the painter. The servants and maids couldn’t stop talking about the handsome foreigner, and several people suddenly recalled hearing his name in songs and tales spread across the lands, from castles and fortresses where he had dined with kings and lords. Their tales became wilder as the days passed, and soon his name was joined with soft giggles behind bashful hands.

King Uther was full of praise for the man, having reconciled with Buonamico’s strange attitude. The king had decided to embrace the stories surrounding him, such as his attendance at the courts of the Franks and the Normans. The fact that Buonamico was well-traveled was, in Uther’s eyes, his best asset.  

Merlin filled three tall silver chalices with wine. King Uther and Lady Morgana were sitting in the banquet hall, which was now being used as an atelier. Buonamico sat at the far end, near the window, wearing a simple robe that could get dirty. He had bound his hair back with a ribbon, from which several mildly curling strands had escaped and now framed his face. He was working on sketching the king and his ward with charcoal while they enjoyed a warm afternoon meal, supplemented with dried fruits and nuts.

Many of the castle’s existing paintings had been hung in this room for inspiration, depicting the proud, noble ancestors of Uther Pendragon, all the way up to his Roman heritage. Morgana was pointing at the odd one out. “This one is very vague, and doesn’t suit the style very well, sire. Where is it from?”

A look of resignation crossed Uther’s features just as Buonamico was regarding the king, to sketch his face. It made Merlin uncomfortable.

At last the king spoke, shifting in his seat. “It belongs to the Du Bois family, a courtesy of Agravaine, their only remaining son. He is the one standing with a hand on his father’s shoulder.”

What Uther failed to remark on was the small blonde girl sitting at her father’s feet petting a toy-sized dog. Merlin understood that it was the only imagery Uther possessed of his late wife. Merlin hadn’t heard Uther speak the words, but it was clear that he regretted never taking the time to mark her likeness down by a proper artist, and he was determined not to make the same mistake now.

The door swung open and Arthur burst into the room in full armour, followed by a cowering George. The prince eyed Merlin as if he was a traitor and turned to his father. “What is the meaning of this? I was in the middle of training my men for the melee.”

“Sit down, Arthur,” his father commanded quietly, a spark of authority lingering in his eyes.

Morgana straightened the folds of her green dress and tilted her head at Arthur. She smirked at him, rejoicing as usual when Arthur slipped up. George had been sent twice to summon him, the second invitation no longer a request.

Arthur held a hand on the pommel of his sword. He was seething, agitated, and clearly overheated. Merlin couldn’t imagine that wearing all that armour was comfortable indoors. He put down the jug of wine he was carrying and walked over to unbuckle the pauldron, but he was stopped when Arthur lifted a hand, not even looking at him, in dismissal.

“No offense to our fine guest,” Arthur said and bowed mildly to Buonamico, who greeted him with a pleasant smile, “but he can only draw one person at a time. Why don’t I come around this evening?”

“You have history this evening,” Uther said, unperturbed.

Merlin bit his lip. He knew how much Arthur hated his history lessons and how much he tried to skip them. Training, however, was sacred. Uther’s wishes went directly against Arthur’s preference, and Merlin just knew he was going to be a prat about it.

“Father, this is absurd—”

“I think it’s a wonderful thing,” Morgana interjected, “to have all this expense set aside for the best painter in the world, as a gift to us, don’t you think, Arthur?”

Merlin saw the vein in Arthur’s forehead pumping. Arthur regarded Morgana venomously and shot a glance to the painter with a scrutinous look that made Uther put down his glass and move to stand up.

“Fine, I’ll sit down. Merlin, get me out of this,” he said.

Merlin stepped forward, but Buonamico piped up.

“Actually, I think the armour is a wonderful detail to draw. Please, take a seat in the light.” Buonamico stood up, holding his papers on one arm and pointed at one of the chairs near him, directly in the afternoon sun.

Merlin took a step back, disappearing into the shadow and tried to hide his amusement. When Buonamico’s face lit up, Merlin realised that he had noticed. He bit his lip and turned away.

Arthur stepped forward and lowered himself with great reluctance into the sun-filled seat. He kept his nose up pompously while Buonamico drew.

Tactfully, Merlin brought Arthur his chalice with wine and placed it beside him. This way, he might be appeased and relax. Arthur made a grab for it.

“Oh, please do not move yet,” Buonamico said and wilted at the death stare he received in return. “I mean, if you could return to your previous pose, sire, that would be magnifico.”

“Do as he says, Arthur,” Uther directed.

The prince glanced at his father and took large swigs from the cup, drinking in gulps.

Merlin was silent and doubtful, positioned at Arthur’s elbow. He didn’t want to provoke anyone by either allowing or denying the chalice to remain by Arthur’s side. So he pursed his lips and waited for Arthur to be done with the scandal of drinking the expensive wine down in one go, in his passive-aggressive disdain for his father’s commands.

When Merlin looked around in concern, he found that Buonamico was regarding him instead of the prince. With the sun overhead and Buonamico placed at the window, Merlin couldn’t see all of his expression, so he lowered his head.

“You should never reveal too much about yourself to a painter,” Morgana advised. “He might work it into the material after all. A nice bottle of wine in the background? A reddish glow to the nose, perhaps?”

“That’s enough, Morgana,” Uther said. “There will be no wine or glow.”

Arthur shoved the chalice at Merlin and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. He fully ignored Morgana and Uther as he settled himself on the chair again and plastered a challenging look in the painter’s direction. “Now, are you capable of working like this?”

“Certainly, sire,” Buonamico said and bowed in his chair. “And rest assured, my lord, you are quite a mystery to me. I do not understand you at all.”

Merlin tried and failed to prevent the corner of his mouth from lifting. Not many people spoke to Arthur that way. He bit his lip. When he dared to look up, Buonamico was staring straight at him. Feeling caught _again_ , he turned around and excused himself to the king, and escaped into the chilled, dark corridors to cool his cheeks

**

Arthur trudged through the castle that night, up towards his room. This had been a thoroughly boring day and Arthur needed his mind cleared. If being taken from the training field hadn’t been bad enough, he had been badgered by his father about the names of all the kings Albion had ever known, and it didn’t interest him one bit.

The armies wouldn’t admire him for naming some dead men beyond their borders, but for tactics and prowess on the battlefield. To make matters worse, Uther had instructed Geoffrey to be particularly hard on him during his lessons that evening.

He had been boiling in frustration by the end of it, thinking only of the recent developments in the knights’ quarters, which he was now prevented from addressing. Sir Leon had bedded Maybelle, the daughter of the cloth tradesman. Not only that, but he had rubbed his beard meaningfully, which meant that he had used his mouth. It was a direct challenge to Arthur’s status.

He pushed open the door to his chambers and found Merlin polishing his ceremonial sword at the dining table and Beth idly poking the fire.

“My lord!” she said and stood up.

“She wouldn’t leave,” Merlin muttered. “I told her.”

Beth ignored Merlin and approached him, her hands outstretched. “Arthur? I thought you might like some company?”

“You can come back later,” he said dismissively and held her wrists before she could touch him. Beth was presumptuous and had overstepped her rank. “When I call for you, not the other way around. Merlin will alert me if you have trespassed again.”

Her face faltered and her bottom lip trembled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

Merlin tilted his head at him and lifted an eyebrow, clearly letting him know he was being rude.

Arthur let go of her wrists and offered her a smile. “No need to panic. But my quarters are no public domain. Now leave. I will call you.”

“Oh, sire, I… thank you, sire,” she stammered. She gathered the skirts of her pretty blue dress and made her excuses, bowing as she left the room.

Merlin put his cloth down and sighed. “Why do you ask her to come back if you don’t like her?”

Arthur glared at him. “She’s pretty.” It ought to explain enough. It wasn’t as if Merlin understood the complex dynamics of his rank or the pressure involved.

“And is pretty truly enough?” Merlin shot back impertinently.

“Like you would know,” he taunted.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t,” Merlin quipped and put his cleaning materials back into an old bag. “Would you like to change, sire?”

“Why is it that everything I do lately is taken into question?” Arthur complained aloud and went to stand next to his changing screen.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know that either, sire,” Merlin replied with a hint of amusement. He came to undo Arthur’s belt and help him out of his shirt.

It was banter that Arthur was familiar with and he let the sarcasm slide. “And now with Sir Leon and Maybelle…” He stepped out of his boots and rank socks, and changed his leather breeches for a pair of soft wool ones for the night.

“Have you considered that they might have affections for one another?” Merlin asked, tying the laces back up for him.

“And now I’m in _third_ place for the portraits, did you hear? My father is going first, and then Morgana. Because she sat and accepted his _stupid_ stories all afternoon.”

“You are still in place ahead of Geoffrey, sire,” Merlin assured him.

“Don’t talk to me about him. He’s made my evening a living hell. And I’m sure he enjoyed it too.”

Merlin stood up and handed him a wet towel so that he could wash his hands and face. “If I knew you were just going to complain, I might have left Beth in here to receive you alone.”

Arthur snorted, feeling his good mood slowly return. “Of course not. I have to make a good impression.” He walked to the bed and took off his mother’s ring, placing it delicately on the nightstand.

“I didn’t know you knew the difference, sire,” Merlin said and looked guilty while he spoke, but there was a rosy amusement on his face. He brought Arthur a bowl of warm water and a clean towel.

“You think I don’t know how to impress?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “If it means bashing people’s heads in with an array of weapons, you’re doing a wonderful job, sire.”

“You had better watch your tone,” Arthur warned with little heat. He rubbed at his face and teeth with the cloth and finished cleaning his hands, before throwing the towel on the ground somewhere.

Merlin was just adding some logs to the fire when he turned around and asked, more softly this time, “Why is it that you hate history lessons so much?”

“Because, _Merlin,_ it’s boring! It’s all happened in the past. When I ride out to a battlefield, it is our events in the moment that decide everything!”

“Well, that’s hardly right,” Merlin said.

“I’m not in the mood for another sermon, Merlin, I swear…”

But Merlin was undeterred, determined to pick at his nerves. “But on the training field, when you pick up a new weapon you’ve never used before, what do you do?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I would practice it daily, until I understand its full potential.”

“And have you ever picked a wrong weapon in battle, sire?” Merlin asked, standing up from the fire and dousing several candles.

“No,” Arthur said, “because I’ve practiced _all_ weapons.”

Merlin replaced one of the stubs on a candle holder and lit it. “What would happen if you do? Make a mistake, I mean?”

Arthur frowned. “Then I might lose the battle.”

Without letting him pause, Merlin began pulling down the sheets of the bed and continued. “And winning or losing battles impresses the people. Knowing your weapons might prevent you from bringing the wrong weapon to a fight. But if you know your history, you might avoid mistakes that kings and emperors of old made in rulership. This wouldn’t impress the people, but it _would_ impress your allies.”

He knew a sermon when he heard one and his patience had run out. “History doesn’t change if I read it today or tomorrow. Besides, one day I shall have the council to help me make political decisions.”

Merlin scoffed and pushed further. “They love themselves more than they do Camelot.”

“What you say borders treason, Merlin. I would almost think you are calling the council selfish.”

Deflating, Merlin shrunk down. But he didn’t turn away from Arthur’s gaze, not for a moment, and Arthur knew that he would push his luck. Merlin licked his lips and said at last, “You are among the few men who know when to choose not to be.”

Instead of shouting, Arthur bit back his reply. This wasn’t something he had expected. “That will be all for tonight.”

Merlin frowned at him, but he bowed properly and went to the door.

Arthur scowled. He wasn’t that good. He was selfish too, just like all the others. The knights made it clear that whoever extended them a hand or charity, they would take it in full and give back only the minimum. Arthur couldn’t afford generosity. “Show her in,” he said at last. He definitely wanted to take his mind off the day.

Looking suddenly exhausted, Merlin nodded at him and opened the door. Almost immediately, Beth hopped back in, her blue dress already hanging off her shoulder alluringly.

“Good night, my lord,” Merlin said, choosing not to address Beth, and left.

**

Merlin was running around like a headless chicken at the busy market the next day, trying to gather all the bizarre materials on Buonamico’s list. He glanced awkwardly down at his list of chalk blocks, a bag of chalk powder finely filtered, rabbit skin glue, pig hairs, ermine fur, and a collection of pigments. There were words on there that Merlin had never heard before, like ‘ultramarine’ and ‘verdigris’.

When he inquired after them, they proved hard to find and considered highly expensive. Fortunately, he had some shady contacts with strange goods who got him what he needed. He was also tasked to bring back a full jar of red ochre powder, which hung heavily off his shoulder as he trudged back to Gaius’ workshop.

Gaius helped him check the list. “It seems,” he began, lifting a sharp eyebrow, “that you forgot to purchase the eggs.”

“Eggs?” Merlin gaped, looked up, and dropped the bag to his feet, exasperated at himself. “Well, I’m not going back,” he said, trying to sound determined.

“It’s on the list, Merlin,” Gaius chided and held it out to him. “Fresh countryside eggs.”

Merlin turned away from the list stubbornly. “What does he need ‘countryside’ eggs for anyway?” he asked, putting all the materials aside. “Can’t I ask the cook?” He rubbed at his sore shoulder.

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” a voice said, coming from the door.

Merlin picked up one of the small jars and fiddled with it innocently as Buonamico entered and approached him. He felt terribly caught in his momentary tantrum and heat rose to his cheeks.

Gaius put down the list and went on with his business of distilling some chemicals. Buonamico looked directly at him, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“I—I can… get you the eggs tomorrow morning?” Merlin offered. “The market will be all out of fresh eggs by now. I’ve been searching for all your pigments all day, and—”

“I know what you can do,” Buonamico said and bumped Merlin’s shoulder.

In shock Merlin dropped the jar he was holding and a bright blue powder spilled out over the floor, erupting in a puff of blue smoke. The stark blue colour clashed against the terracotta pottery shards.

“Oh no!” Buonamico exclaimed. “Not the ultramarine! It is the most expensive!”

Merlin looked up wide-eyed, his heart in his throat. He could never afford replacing this. Gaius would have his hide, and then Uther would throw him into a cell.

“What happened?” Gaius asked. “Merlin?!”

Merlin shrunk down and opened his mouth to apologise.

“I’m so sorry,” Buonamico said. “It’s entirely my fault!” He stepped up to Gaius and showed him his hands. “It slipped right through!”

Gaius glanced between the two men.

Merlin was too stunned to speak. Why was Buonamico taking the blame?

“I’m sure Merlin can filter it for you,” Gaius said calmly, not quite sure he believed the man.

“Oh, no no no, I’m afraid I need the material completely pure! I paint in thin, transparent layers, I cannot have any sand or dust—”

“This was all they had,” Merlin said with worry. “Look, I know a good deal about filtering, let me try at least,” he pleaded, ever so grateful that Buonamico hadn’t revealed him.

There was a cheeky spark in Buonamico’s eyes as he pulled several strands of loose curls behind his ear. “Try the filtering and bring it to my quarters tonight. I will make a request of you. A portrait, yes? As an apology, I mean, for giving you all this work.”

Merlin looked at him curiously, but his relief at avoiding punishment thrummed powerfully through his veins. “Of me?”

“Yes!”

This man smiled so easily, Merlin thought to himself. It was such a contrast to the rest of the nobles here, who only flashed their teeth at topics of drink and coin. And he was kind. Perhaps too kind. He wouldn’t let his guard down, but he had to admit that he was curious. “Yes, sir,” he replied at last.

“Mico, remember?”

Merlin chuckled awkwardly and handed him the rest of his materials. “Sure, Mico.”

“And bring something to drink.”


	3. Posing

Merlin knocked on Buonamico’s door late that evening, carrying a cloth bag over his shoulder. He had just wished Arthur a good night—no Beth this evening—and left him to his fresh pile of homework. The prince had been tasked with extra studying and had made his intent clear to do anything but that. Merlin had excused himself under the pretext of a promised errand, which was true enough, and now he stood waiting for Buonamico to answer. 

When the door opened at last and Buonamico’s face lit up at finding him there, Merlin’s heart was in his throat. He’d never posed for anyone before and the very notion made him nervous. He had thought about it all day and had come to the conclusion that he was quietly curious about this man and his buoyant disposition. A deep place inside of him craved for his happy manners. 

Buonamico stepped aside and allowed Merlin to enter. He was wearing a white tunic that went down to his knees, tied at the waist by a leather belt. The soft tunic was filled from the waist down with paint blotches where he must have wiped his hands a hundred times during his work. He wore dark green woollen trousers, and below that he was barefoot. 

Merlin stared for a moment, if only for coming to the conclusion that his feet were the same sandy olive colour as his hands and face—which Merlin had presumed were darkened by the sun—and it made him wonder whether the tan was all over. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Buonamico said as Merlin stepped inside. It wasn’t quite a welcome, but also wasn’t unkind. He pushed the door closed and guided Merlin towards his working table at the side of the room. 

The table was a complete mess. There were wooden panels stacked to one side, coated with some shiny film, ready to be used as canvasses. Beside them Merlin saw an array of jars and mixtures, oils, brushes, knives, and a variety of tools, some of which Merlin had never seen before. In the room, similar objects were strewn and at the back, near the window, two easels were erected. A small table was placed between them with paints and brushes, a jar of some brown mixture, and a dirty cloth. 

“I’ve brought your powder,” Merlin said quickly and carefully lowered the cloth bag from his shoulder. “I think I filtered it right. I’m really sorry about what happened before.” Despite Gaius’ warnings, he had used magic to ensure its purity and hopefully to avoid any punishment, should Buonamico be displeased after all. 

But Buonamico was smiling broadly at him, as if there wasn’t a concern in the world. His cheeks were dimpled and his dark eyes regarded him without any judgment. “I’m sure it is amazing,” he said softly and held out his hands. 

Merlin handed him the brand new jar and watched as Buonamico checked its contents. He held the jar up near a candle, picked up a metal stylus and stirred through it. “I’m very impressed. Tell me honestly, did you do this or did your master do the work?” 

“He helped with instructions,” Merlin said awkwardly and looked down along Buonamico’s neck to avoid his eyes. Gaius had found the spell after all. and he didn’t want to lie. 

“Good, this is very good.” He closed the jar and put it on the table. “Now tell me you brought some wine?” 

“I—er,” he stammered, breaking his gaze away from a mole on Buonamico’s neck and looking up in shock. “I wasn’t able to get any this late. The store room is locked for the night.” 

For the first time, Merlin witnessed Buonamico’s face falter. He turned around and leaned over his desk. “Oh no,” he said dramatically. 

Merlin lifted his hands in apology, hoping desperately that Buonamico wouldn’t tell the king about his incompetence. “I’m sorry, I—”

But Buonamico rounded on him, having reached under the table to present a filled wineskin with a red ribbon from the royal stash. The grin was back on his face. “Then it is good I have some wine myself. Now we can share it.” 

“Share?!” Merlin asked owlishly. He lifted his hands and took a step back. “I can’t drink the king’s wine.” 

“Nonsense!” Buonamico said. “Wine is only a drink. You can drink it just like I can. Besides, you were invited here, were you not?” 

“To pose, yes,” Merlin said and looked down. 

“Well, I am not letting you pose without a drink in your belly. Get me those cups, will you?” He gestured over to the nightstand beside his large bed. 

“Yes sir,” Merlin said. It wasn’t a four-poster like the nobles had, but sizeable anyway. The mattress was well made, Merlin saw, and had recently been refilled with straw, judging by the fresh smell. He only noticed it because the sheets were unmade, clothes were strewn everywhere, and there were empty plates on the ground next to the nightstand. His hands itched to clean it up, but he just gathered the cups and returned.

“You should stop saying ‘sir’. It makes me want to dress in armour and pick up a sword.” He laughed and lifted his glass to cheer. “Can you imagine? Me, with a sword?”  

Merlin wasn’t certain if laughing was the right response, so he cheered and said, “Anyone with a will to learn can eventually wear armour and wield a sword.” 

“Very well said,” Buonamico remarked, and humour filled in his eyes as he took a sip of the wine. “Please, have a seat.” He placed his cup on the working table and pulled up a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. Then, with some effort, he dragged a tall floor candelabra with seven candles next to it. “Sit, sit,” he said. “Let me take your scarf.” 

Merlin sat down on the chair and held his cup in his lap while Buonamico undid the red scarf from his neck and put it aside. He expected Buonamico to pull up another chair, but instead he disappeared between the two easels and rummaged around. Merlin drank some more. The wine was sweet and tasted of summer. He closed his eyes and thought about the upcoming summer. Arthur would come of age as Crown Prince and he wasn’t ready yet. Not by a long shot. 

“So, you should tell me what you are thinking about,” Buonamico said. 

Merlin looked up in surprise. He saw the painter on a seat, right between the two easels, with several pieces of thick paper on his lap. He was running a hand through his hair to pull it back in a smooth gesture. Merlin saw how he reached back, shook his hair behind his shoulders and lifted it up expertly into a messy bunch, before tying a rope around it. It caught most of his hair, but, like before, a few locks evaded capture and framed his face, despite his efforts to catch them behind his ear. There was a smudge of paint on his elbow where he would never see it. 

Merlin gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “I had better not,” he said. 

“But I want to know what you are thinking.” 

“About what exactly?” Merlin evaded.

“Tell me all you know about ultramarine,” Buonamico said, all ease. 

Merlin looked up and blinked at him. He saw that Buonamico was already drawing and nearly dropped his cup of wine in shock. “I’m sorry, I moved!” 

“I didn’t ask you to sit still. I’m only sketching. Simply looking at you. Please, talk.” 

His voice was so friendly, Merlin thought to himself. He was never in trouble with this man, not really, even if he made mistakes. Either it was extremely suspicious, or perhaps this man simply had a pleasant disposition. He shouldn’t wonder about it too much. His mother was like that too, always friendly, except when she feared for his safety. Gwen too. Even Lancelot… 

“Could it be you don’t know about ultramarine? We can talk about something else…?” 

Merlin glanced up at him and smiled awkwardly. “I know a little. I mean, I never heard about it before I saw your list. It’s an expensive powder made from lazurite stones, which are also used as jewelry in the southern lands across the sea.” 

“Lapis lazuli,” Buonamico said. “Very good. It comes from Bactria and Kushan, traded all through Persia and Egypt. It means ‘over the sea’ in Latin and is prized as jewelry and pigment by royals and religious leaders. Where I’m from, we only use it as a holy blue. It’s not just for anyone.” 

Merlin’s eyes were wide as he listened to Buonamico talk. “Have you been to all those places?” 

“Certainly not,” he said and laughed. “It would take a lifetime to travel them all. I mean, if you are like me and stop everywhere you can to capture beauty.” 

Merlin licked his lips. A nervous thrum went through him. “So, you’ve seen a lot then?” He glanced over sideways, the wine a steady warmth in his belly. 

Buonamico’s voice was soft. “Beauty? Yes. To find beauty one must but look.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his eyes stole over Merlin’s form. 

Merlin looked down at his cup, confused and wired. He frowned. That couldn’t be right, could it? It was folly to even hope a man like that could have genuine interest. All of the staff were gossiping about him, sharing possible tales that might or might not be true. 

“There, just stay like that. Don’t move!” Buonamico said and the sound of him sketching increased. 

Merlin refrained from biting his lip, but only barely. He closed his eyes and listened to the furious swiping of coal on paper; scratches and smudges were the only sound in the room apart from the thick, heavy beat of his heart. 

“To tear away the gaze of Narcissus himself!” Buonamico exclaimed and leaned back. 

“What?” Merlin looked up. 

“The classic tales, don’t you know them?” 

“Only some,” Merlin admitted. “I don’t get tutored on them much.” 

Buonamico wiped his hands on a cloth and put it aside. “The Greek and Roman cultures both share this tale, but the Greeks told it best.” He stood up, pulled some hair behind his ears, and walked to his work desk to retrieve his cup of wine. 

Merlin sat awkwardly on his chair in the centre of the room, staring vaguely at that spot of paint on Buonamico’s elbow. 

“Narcissus was the son of river god Cephisus and nymph Lyriope. He was a young man of such extraordinary beauty, that he caught the eye of Apollo himself.” 

Taking a quick gulp of wine, Merlin hoped he could hide his surprise at Buonamico’s tale of male love. Was this a provocation? The wine swirled pleasantly in his belly and made him lightheaded. But the painter wasn’t paying attention to him directly, instead continuing with the story. 

“Although he did not know himself, he was followed by many suitors and turned them all down. One of them was a young man named Ameinias, who begged him to return his affections. Instead of affection, Narcissus gave the man a sword. Ameinias used it to kill himself at Narcissus’ doorstep, begging to the Gods that he be taught a lesson for all the pain he caused.” 

Merlin licked his lips, ears burning as he looked up during the pause, hoping for more. 

Buonamico smiled at him. “The Gods can play cruel games. One day Narcissus walked by a river, intent to quench his thirst. He kneeled down and saw his reflection in the water. At once, he was captivated by the beauty he saw, and he fell desperately in love with his own reflection. Some say he did not know what he saw, because he never understood himself. Unable to have his object of desire, he died on the riverbank from his sorrow.”

Merlin felt a strange resentment at the end of the story, that the young man hadn’t broken away from his own gaze. He tried to puzzle it together. “It’s just a legend, right?” 

“Is that how you feel about it? What about the truths hidden in the story?” 

He looked up at Buonamico. “What truths?” 

Buonamico finished his cup and poured another. Then he came to sit in front of Merlin on the ground and looked up at him. “For example, that perceiving and seizing beauty is a selfish pursuit.” 

Merlin blinked at him. “Then are you calling yourself selfish?” 

“Entirely selfish!” Buonamico proclaimed. “In my pursuit to put it down on paper, Socrates and Aristippus would laugh in my face. It cannot truly be captured. But I will spend my life trying.” 

“That doesn’t sound selfish at all, if you are sharing it with the world. I cannot travel to the places you have seen and admire their beauty.” 

“Does that mean you trust my work without question?” Buonamico shot back. 

Merlin blinked. It was hard, sometimes, to learn what the true image was that a painting or drawing resembled. Sometimes they didn’t look like the real world at all. “But is that selfish?” 

Buonamico sat up straight and placed a hand on Merlin’s leg. Merlin froze at the gesture, glancing down at his exposed forearm and at the strong fingers grasping his knee, but Buonamico continued unperturbed. “I will confess that when I was sketching the prince, my eye instead fell on you and how the light played over your face. I am a greedy man, so I must capture your beauty for myself.” 

Merlin shook his head and huffed. “I don’t have anything like that to offer.” There was no mistaking his intent any longer, and Merlin was both terrified and starved for it. But to accept himself as a beauty, that was not something he could reconcile with. 

The easy smile was back on his face. His hand stayed on his knee as Buonamico stood up, his body close, making Merlin feel terribly uneasy on his chair. “Must I speak plainer?” 

His throat felt like sandpaper. Merlin looked up at him and saw how a lock of hair escaped its imprisonment and fell over Buonamico’s forehead, crossing his slanted eyebrows and resting against his thick lashes. He knew the man was handsome, but he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it yet. It was a built-in fail-safe response and hard to break through.

“I, ehm…” 

“All I’m asking you is to sit for me in the evenings. This will be after I’m done with my commission works. Please, Merlin?” He tentatively reached out a hand to cup Merlin’s cheek and gently lifted his chin up, gazing down intently. 

It was the first time Buonamico had said his name, Merlin realised, and he rolled the _r_ with a heavy accent. For some reason it sent a shiver down Merlin’s spine. He couldn’t quite believe that of all the people in the castle, he was the one who had caught the man’s eye. 

“Y—yes,” he said at last, his voice oddly thick in his throat. He pulled back from the hand and Buonamico stepped away, satisfied. 

** 

Arthur was feeling thoroughly sorry for himself, having been dragged away from his training a second time. Today it was because an urgent meeting was called about the West Saxons reported regrouping just beyond the borders of Camelot. 

Instead of meeting in the council chambers like normal, their talks were moved to the banquet hall where Buonamico sat near the window with his wooden panels and alternated painting Uther, Morgana, and himself. 

“The paint must dry in between. I cannot make the layers thick, or the painting will crack within a few months.” Buonamico had explained it, and Arthur had promptly forgotten it. 

“What of the reports of a new king?” Arthur lifted his goblet and waited for Merlin to fill it with ale. He was in the mood for ale today, if they were going to sit here for hours. 

“They do not know his name, but they are saying a leader has arisen and is gathering the enemies we scattered. We do not know which way they will march. It might be away from Camelot.” Sir Leon was head of the patrols and had received the news late the previous night. 

Arthur frowned. If the demoralised armies were gathered by a leader, then perhaps they could find their inner strength again. Everything that Arthur had done so far would have been for nothing. Perhaps he should have chosen to attend the battle instead of saving the painter. Then they could have killed far more Saxons themselves and breathe fear into their enemies’ hearts. 

“There’s something else,” Sir Leon said. “We fear that the new leader might know how to use magic.” 

Uther stood up, ignoring Buonamico’s theatrical sigh. “What sort of magic?” 

“It’s unknown. But they said he protected the Saxon warriors against a beast in the hills.” 

Morgana looked up. “What beast?” She rarely joined council meetings and her question made Leon stumble. 

“We don’t know… yet, my lady. My patrols are traveling back now to find out more.” 

“Father, I would like to investigate this personally,” Arthur announced. 

“Nonsense,” Uther said, still standing. “We will first learn what the patrols say.” 

“If the Saxons are crossing into our lands with a sorcerer as their new leader, we will need to be ready for them!” Arthur argued. 

“You have a test coming up.” Uther declared simply. 

Arthur clenched his fist and paled. “The melee is weeks away—”

“This is not about the melee, Arthur, and you know it.” 

He did his best to ignore Morgana gloating his way. He hated tests with a passion, unless they were of physical merit, because at least he was confident he could win those. If his father was going to make a spectacle of his studying failures in front of the council, in front of Sir Leon, Arthur was ready to throw a fit. 

Merlin was at his side suddenly and blocked his view of Morgana, topping up his ale even though it wasn’t entirely necessary. “I heard that the test is five days from now,” Merlin whispered so that the others couldn’t hear, before stepping away again. 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Merlin briefly. He was staring innocently at the painter. None of the council had heard him, so Arthur relaxed and jutted his chin towards his father. “Then I shall take this test and afterwards ride out to face our enemies.” 

Uther gave him a hard stare, sat down again, and nodded. “Proceed with the reports,” he said and waved his hand. 

Shit, he only had five days to learn all the history material he had tried to ignore for so long. He would have to find a way to manage all that. 

** 

Later that evening Arthur paced the upper auditorium in the library. He had brought two books of homework to the quietest room he could imagine, with personal approval from Geoffrey. In fact, he was certain Geoffrey would tell his father as soon as he could and claim the idea was his own, in order to receive a royal pat on the head. 

He found himself desperately longing for distraction within minutes. The auditorium was empty apart from several desks and chairs, as well as his books, which he _certainly_ wasn’t touching. As the library was built centrally in the castle. The only windows were up high. On one side they faced a narrow courtyard where nothing was happening. On the other side, however… 

He heard a voice. And the voice was laughing. 

“On your elbow… since yesterday!”

He crossed the room and stood next to the wall, looking at the window overhead. The voice was gone. He strained to hear more. Suddenly he heard a laugh again. What was worse, he _knew_ that laugh. It was most certainly Merlin’s voice. 

But he couldn’t see anything, so he just decided to listen. 

“I’m not wearing that!” 

That was Merlin’s voice for certain. 

  
“But it suits you!” 

He wasn’t certain who that was, and it grated at his nerves. 

“No, take that off,” the voice said again. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You can use this, yes, just like that. This is perfect, just stay like that!” 

There was almost a minute of complete silence before Merlin was laughing again, a rich bubbling sound, free from constraints. He didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound like that. 

He paced the room, wondering what to do. He didn’t know whose chamber that was. And Merlin was enjoying his free time. As he was Arthur’s manservant, that meant that Arthur had a right to demand Merlin’s presence at any given moment. He could tear him from that room with a mere call. 

But that was ludicrous. He should be studying now and he didn’t require Merlin for anything. He certainly wasn’t intending to study either, which meant that calling Merlin over to the library would simply mean he needed to open his books after all. And he wasn’t quite done rebelling yet.

So he did the only logical thing he could and pushed one of the desks towards the wall. It was a heavy, wooden thing, and he was sweating by the time he’d pushed it across the rough-hewn stones. Once there, he climbed on top of it and was just able to see through the paneled glass, straight into Buonamico’s guest chambers. 

Arthur did a double take. Merlin was seated on the edge of Buonamico’s bed, and he was posing, stark naked, with a laurel crown in his hair. The red blankets strewn across his waist were a small modesty considering the circumstances. 

_What is this treachery?!_ Arthur thought. That ridiculous man was painting Merlin. _Merlin_ , of all people, who could never have the coin for that. 

And Merlin was smiling like a fool. A drunken fool if the cups and empty wineskin were any indicator. It was positively ridiculous. Bordering on treason! He was about to climb down and demanding this idiocy would stop, when he heard Merlin speak up. 

“I thought about what you said.” 

Arthur stood still and listened. 

“About what?” 

“About finding beauty in the world.” 

Buonamico hummed and mixed some more colours into a light paste. “Oh? I want to hear what you think.” 

The sideways smile Merlin gave him was jubilant. “I get it, I think. If you don’t stop to see, to listen, or to feel… then perhaps life isn’t worth living?” 

“This is very wise, but also dangerous. What if you find yourself surrounded by ugliness?” 

Merlin shook his head. “Some beauty comes from within. You can’t define it simply by looking at something.” 

Buonamico lowered his paint brush and tilted his head. “What if you find something beautiful that is ugly on the inside? How would you judge?” 

Sitting more straight, Merlin licked his lips and said, “I don’t think anyone is truly ugly from within. If they express themselves this way, they probably need our help. Perhaps they are afraid or angered.” 

“So, how do you see yourself?” 

Merlin sagged slightly and lowered his head, picking at a piece of loose string on the blanket. “I don’t reckon it’s right for me to judge.” 

Arthur was captivated by their exchange. He’d never heard Merlin, or anyone else for that matter, speak their mind so freely. With the knights, they only spoke of the battles they fought, whose head rolled from which sword, the latest crafting techniques for weapons, dice games, and so on. Everyone was vying for the upper hand in conversation, and this… _this_ … was intimate. And for the life of him he could not tear his eyes away. 

“Very good, I would say. Leave that judgment to others,” Buonamico said, painting wildly onto the wooden panel. 

Merlin regarded him cheekily. “And how do you see me then?” 

A hearty laugh from the painter. “Do you really want to know?” 

“Good point, maybe I don’t,” Merlin shot back. 

“You wound me!” Buonamico said theatrically, and Merlin burst out laughing again. He dried the brush he had been working with and picked up another. Arthur could see the outline of a nearly white shape on the dark wooden canvas, representing Merlin’s figure. 

Merlin lifted his eyebrows in challenge in a way that Arthur had seen before. Somehow he felt immensely discouraged at this. He knew that Merlin behaved this way towards him in private and he had always assumed that their banter was something Merlin did exclusively to him. It was something that grounded him, kept him on his toes, and frequently made him laugh. Since the knights never spent any time with his manservant, he’d never thought Merlin would behave the same relaxed, informal way with someone else. 

“Okay, I will tell you,” Buonamico conceded. “There is outer beauty and inner beauty. You clearly possess both. No, let me finish. You have a wisdom beyond your years, Merlin. The way you speak is profound. And I like to listen to you, especially when you make your opinions known. My guess is not a lot of people here listen to you.” 

Merlin looked stunned, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features. It was an expression Arthur knew well, one full of doubt and self-denial. Arthur saw him almost visibly shrink. 

“And on the outside,” Buonamico said. “I need to tell you the story of Pygmalion.” 

“Another Greek tale?” Merlin asked. 

_Another?_ Arthur wondered. He looked over his shoulders and saw only his pile of history books on the desk in the front of the room. His confidence sank to the pit of his stomach and he turned away from his homework once more, preferring to be entertained by the strange events. He found himself staring without blinking at Merlin’s extremely pale skin. It had had little sun and it was white as milk. 

“Roman this time, by Ovidius, who wrote it over four hundred years ago.” Buonamico took a few moments to mix some red powder and began adding the outline of the red cloth to the canvas in smooth, thin layers. “This story takes place on Cyprus. Pygmalion was an excellent sculptor, known to work with ivory. His statues had the most lifelike expression any person has ever made, and he was prized in his craft. However, Cyprus had many women with bad reputations, and he remained unmarried.

“The pinnacle of his work was a statue of a woman so divinely beautiful she mirrored the aspect of Venus herself. He was enchanted with her figure and her gentle face, and he called her Galatea. He dressed her with the finest clothes, bought her the most beautiful jewellery, and put flowers in her hair. He touched her face, her collarbones, her breasts. And he kissed her. He was obsessed with Galatea. Every day he stared at her and desired her more. He wanted her to be his wife.” 

Merlin listened quietly, his lips pursed and and his eyes never leaving Buonamico. 

“Then came the feast for Venus, and Pygmalion made her an extravagant offering, praying with his heart and soul that his wife would have Galatea’s likeness, for he would love no other. Touched by his deep veneration, she granted Pygmalion his wish. He ran home and beheld his ivory figure, and she felt warm to his touch. He kissed Galatea and her lips were soft and her cheeks red. Soon, she had transformed into a woman, who loved and adored her creator, and she became his devoted wife.”

Merlin looked flushed and curious. “I like this story better. But what does it mean?” 

Buonamico drank some of his wine and shrugged. “What do you think it means?” 

Huffing, Merlin sat more straight, still keeping his pose, and said, “If this is how you choose to describe your view of me, you either believe that your artwork can create me as much as I create the artwork by posing, _or_ you somehow compare my likeness to a woman.” 

A warm chuckle. “You are right on both accounts.” 

“Hey!” Merlin frowned. “I was only joking!” 

“Is it so bad that I see something feminine in you? You are silent when you serve the others, you sense feelings acutely, and your lips would be the envy of Pygmalion himself!” 

Arthur felt heat rise to his cheeks at the amorous words spoken by Buonamico. How dare he—how dare he what? Compliment Merlin? Make attempts to seduce him? Was that what this was? 

“Don’t turn away from me,” Buonamico said, more gently this time. 

“I don’t see what you see,” Merlin said, his head low between his shoulders. 

Buonamico stood up from his seat in the corner of the room and walked over to him. “Do you want some more wine?” 

“No, thank you,” Merlin said, sounding deflated. 

“Come, stand up.” Buonamico held out a hand. 

“What for?” Merlin clutched the blankets around his middle. 

“Come, prove to me that I can only see you as a man and nothing else. I want to draw a full pose.” 

“But I’m naked!” Merlin complained. 

Buonamico smiled and picked up Merlin’s hand. “That is the beauty of it. The Greeks and the Romans never dressed for posing. They have given us the greatest art the world has ever seen!” 

Merlin huffed and soon gave in to the pull on his arm, standing up and letting the blanket slowly slide away. 

Arthur stared wide-eyed as the red cloth dropped from his body to reveal more skin. He couldn’t even explain why he felt so excited to watch, but if the heat in his groin was any indication… No, this was stupid. He couldn’t admire a man! Much less a servant! If it were to be a man then—no, no men, he decided, and that was final. 

And yet he could not stop looking at the shape of Merlin’s narrow hips, the small indentations at the bottom of his spine, and the curve of his arse. 

“Turn to me,” Buonamico said, his voice deep and gentle. He was looking at Merlin freely, as if there was nothing strange about this. “Put your hand here.” He picked up Merlin’s wrist and molded his hand so that it held onto one of the arms of a tall candelabra. “Now lean on one leg, relax your other foot, yes. Your head this way—ah, perfect contrapposto. Now stand still.” 

Merlin looked nervous and uncomfortable in his nudity. His shoulders were slumped and he was swallowing his nerves away. His cock was half hard, but whether that was from excitement or nerves, Arthur couldn’t tell. He also couldn’t stop looking. 

It was as if Merlin had been unraveled before him, his ever identical outfits which had functioned as an armour of invisibility stripped away, and Arthur could finally _see_. 

Buonamico stepped back and observed him. “No, no, I need you to look at me with pride, Merlin.” 

“But I’m… naked.” His voice was soft. 

“Forget that you are naked. I want you to think of something you are proud of.” 

He shrunk down even more. “Proud?” A flash of something fearful crossed his features. 

Buonamico lifted his sleeves and said with animated voice, “Yes! Something you’ve done, or created. Have you? No? Okay, how about a moment that you were praised by someone you admire very much? Your father?” 

Merlin became more miserable by the moment. 

Arthur felt his heart thudding against his ribs at the very thought. He hadn’t ever considered that Merlin might not know pride. But this setting was too intimate, Arthur thought, his cock hard in his breeches at the very indecency of it. He shouldn’t be watching this, and he knew it. He should stop now and look away. And yet, he needed to know what happened next. 

Buonamico was grasping at straws. “How about the king? No, definitely not the king. Okay, maybe you helped someone, yes? Saved their life?” 

Slowly, Merlin’s demeanor changed. He allowed the thought to sink in and glanced up suddenly to look straight at Buonamico. “Yes, that.” 

“You saved someone’s life?” 

“Yes, I did.” He stood more straight and lifted his chin defiantly. His loose hand was pulled into a fist. 

Buonamico continued happily, “That is great. Were they grateful?” 

Merlin snorted. “No. But I would do it again in an instant.” 

Sitting back down at his easel, Buonamico changed panels and began the first drafts of the new pose in charcoal. “Keep thinking about that. This is a good thought.” 

Arthur looked and looked. And he saw Merlin’s pride in his eyes and _knew_ that Merlin meant him. It was the very reason Merlin had been offered the position as his royal manservant. He wasn’t sure what to think about that, except that watching felt both wrong and right. He reached down a hand and tentatively touched his cock, which was rock hard. 

He wasn’t certain how that came to be, whether looking at something he shouldn’t see had thrilled him that much, or the way Merlin’s chest rose and fell in pride, the way his nipples were drawn into nubs from the cool air, or how his now-flaccid cock hung peacefully from a nest of short, dark curls, unnoticed because he was thinking of something else entirely. 

Meanwhile Arthur stroked himself more deliberately, telling himself that the subtle shapes of Merlin’s body and the pale, feminine tone of his skin, and his lips—pointed out by Buonamico himself—were what enticed him to do so. He unlaced his breeches so he could touch himself better and began truly enjoying his vantage point, charged and titillated beyond his expectations. 

And for nearly twenty minutes, Merlin held his pose and Buonamico sketched, until the shapes were roughly completed. “It needs to rest. You can relax.” 

Merlin looked away, as if suddenly aware of his nudity again and blushed, a full, warm colour plastered on his cheeks. 

“I was wrong about you,” Buonamico said. 

“About what?” Merlin asked. 

Arthur calmed his hand to pause his pleasure, eager to listen instead of climax. Everything about it felt wrong to him, but, oh, so _very_ enticing. 

“Seeing you on the inside. I think I hardly know you. There is a depth unexplored, and I have only seen the surface.” He was cleaning his hands with a cloth and stood up, approaching him. “You are so interesting. I want to find out more.” 

Merlin laughed awkwardly, but he didn’t move away when Buonamico came to stand in front of him. “I doubt that. You’ve seen me already.” He lowered his hand from the candelabra and folded it awkwardly around his own waist. 

But Buonamico was undeterred. “When you stepped in here today, I didn’t know you as I do now. And I have learned one important thing.” He plucked Merlin’s hand away from around his waist, pulling Merlin against him. 

Merlin’s eyes were half-lidded as he melted against the painter’s body, his white-knuckled hands gripping into the fabric of his tunic to hold on, tensely trying to hide his desperation. 

Buonamico leaned in and said softly, “That you also have a heart of gold.”  

Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw Buonamico lean in and kiss him, at last, and Merlin _accepted_ it in full conviction. The bells tolled for midnight. Arthur lowered his head, pushing his forehead against the cool stone wall and gripped himself hard, feeling a surge of passion building up inside of him until he came, biting his lip and spilling all over the brickwork. 

Within minutes he was out of the library, carrying his history books under his arm. A dirty cloth was stuffed into his pocket to hide his evidence, and he returned to his room, more confused than ever. 

And he hadn’t practiced a word of history yet. 


	4. Seductions

Merlin was a nervous ball of agitation the next day, rushing up to the banquet hall carrying a tray with three large pitchers of wine. Buonamico was in favour with the nobles and the knights, who had requested attendance at the historic event of the painting sessions. It was also raining outside and none of them wanted to train. Merlin pushed open the servants’ door and gasped at what he faced.

King Uther sat at the head of the table, Prince Arthur on his right side and Lady Morgana on his left. Surrounding them at the large tables sat all the Knights of Camelot in their finest tunics and with their hair washed, beards trimmed or clean shaven for once. They were merrily talking away about everyday castle affairs, training, and recent wagers and clearly, vainly, hoping for a small portrait of their own. Geoffrey of Monmouth was seated in a chair next to the window and looked magnanimously at Buonamico who was sketching his likeness.

Merlin stumbled towards Arthur’s side, but before he got there, Beth had whisked one of the pitchers off his tray and was offering Arthur a refill of his drink. Arthur dismissed her with the wave of a hand, without so much as a look in her direction. She looked deflated until Sir Gwaine raised his goblet and she sweetly served him instead.

Meanwhile, Gwen poured a glass of wine for Sir Leon, who sat at Morgana’s left side. The word in the kitchens was that Sir Leon had no interest in Maybelle anymore, which might have been a record for how fast any one of the knights had bedded and left a noblewoman. Maybelle in turn had claimed that nothing had ever happened between them. But since Sir Leon had grown his beard and was spreading rumours about his activities, Merlin wasn’t so certain which version was true.

Merlin put down the tray on a table at the back of the room and picked up another pitcher. Risking a glance, he looked over at Buonamico’s side table and saw that his cup was full. George was smugly standing next to the painter, probably hoping that his presence there would increase his favour in the ranks of the noblemen.

He looked at Buonamico himself, the way he had pulled his hair back again and how his sleeves were stroked up while he was working. His skin was truly beautiful, a sandy olive colour without needing sun. The black hairs on his arms were highlighted by a light fall of chalk dust, and his hands were confidently working a figure onto the white canvas.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. It would be evening again before he would have the chance to talk to Buonamico. To kiss him again. Perhaps they would do a bit more than that. And Merlin couldn’t think about anything else.

He glanced at Arthur, as force of habit, and stood up straight when he found Arthur studying him darkly. He held up his pitcher and walked over to stand behind Arthur’s wooden throne. “A drink, sire?” he asked softly and leaned over in a gentle motion.

“No,” Arthur said curtly and held his hand over his cup to prevent Merlin pouring. “Serve the others.”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin stood back, confused. Beth and Gwen were already doing a good job going round the tables. But there were a _lot_ of knights today. As he walked around, he saw Arthur’s gaze following him, observing his every move. He gulped and wondered whether he’d done anything wrong. He passed Buonamico’s easel and bowed next to Sir Owain’s chair to top up his drink.

“Very good, Sir Monmouth,” Buonamico purred more appreciatively than necessary.

Geoffrey folded his hands across his belly with great satisfaction. Merlin glanced back over his shoulder and saw Buonamico flashing him a quick grin.

A sharp warmth bloomed in the pit of his belly as Merlin realised that the compliment was for him. He spent the next few minutes topping up the rest of the drinks, taking his time, and trying to fight the blush on his face by thinking about normal, everyday things.

He failed completely.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly and drew attention to himself. “What about training for the melee, father? I don’t know how long this painting will take, but we’re losing valuable time.”

Uther seemed entirely unconcerned. “If the news about the Saxons is true, the melee may need to be canceled. We cannot have any of our knights in recovery when they need to be sent for war.”

“We are not _at_ war,” Arthur argued obstinately.

“We are defending our borders,” Uther shot back and slapped the table loudly. Some of the talking knights jumped and looked over their shoulders at the king.

But Arthur was stubborn. “And we have done so successfully for months on end! I’ve brought you nothing but victory.”

Uther sat back in his chair and said, “I will not listen to your disobedience. If you won’t behave, I will certainly cancel the melee to teach you a lesson.”

The knights stopped eating and drinking and collectively held their breath. Uther seldom scolded Arthur in public, and it was even rarer when he publicly mentioned direct consequences or punishment. Merlin stood next to a wall awkwardly and hoped to blend into the background.

Arthur was seething, his hand fisted on the table, where he stared at his goblet, ready to throw it if someone pulled his string any further. Merlin knew how much the tourney meant to him.

“We have a famous story,” Buonamico piped up, seemingly entirely unaware of the delicacy of the situation. “It is about the battles of Asculum and Heraclea. A great warlord named Pyrrhus bravely defeated the Roman armies again, and again, _and again_! Always victorious. He was a great leader with many talented soldiers. And that’s what caused his defeat.”

The knights with their back to him turned around and regarded Buonamico with interest. They were all here to gain his favour and to be part of the inevitable stories that would be told about his attendance in court for years to come. They listened sharply to share the important words with those who would never learn to read and doubtlessly increase their own importance.

“Surely, a great king with talented soldiers should win a war,” Sir Leon put forward when no others spoke.

Buonamico cleaned one of his brushes and smiled easily at the crowds before him. “On the contrary. King Pyrrhus famously said, ‘One more victory like this, and we shall be completely ruined!’ And so it happened.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth lifted in his silent delight that this man was obviously very clever as well as charming and had effortlessly thrown words in the middle of a quarrel between the highest ranking nobles of the land.

But Merlin also envied the man for his status in the castle, without being of noble birth. Apparently the historic moment was too good for anyone to miss. While the whole room was occupied with Buonamico’s story, Merlin was free to observe him, his relaxed form and easy smile. He was handsome, Merlin admitted, and he felt a sharp longing beginning to form in his chest.

Then, to Merlin’s great surprise, Uther spoke up.

“Our friend Buonamico speaks truly.” The king glanced across the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “Pyrrhus was king of Epirus and he battled for many years against the Romans, whose empire was vastly larger. And he won each battle until he had no further men to send to fight, while the Romans sent their fresh recruits in a constant, neverending stream. Eventually his victories led to his defeat.”

“What’s the point? He lost!” Arthur snapped.

“The _point_ is,” Uther shouted, his voice echoing through the room, “the point is we have already lost armies and knights against enemy forces and our victories mean nothing if they simply keep coming. You would know this if you had studied.” The last word spoken came out venomously.

Sir Leon held his lips stiffly together, Gwaine turned away and signalled Beth for another drink, and even Gwen busied herself with gathering empty cups. Only Morgana dared to look directly at Arthur at that point, sharply judging.

“There is a great consolation,” Buonamico continued, entirely unperturbed by the mood in the room. “The Saxons need boats to cross the seas. This gives you information about their numbers. Besides, some other kingdoms are your good friends, are they not? Together you stand strong. Perhaps Nemeth or Mercia?”

Geoffrey frowned at Buonamico. “I would not presume who our allies are, if I were you, sir.”

“I’m sure he meant no offense,” Sir Caradoc said gruffly.

“I wouldn’t call Mercians friends until I had none other left,” Sir Bedivere countered darkly.

Uther slapped the table again. “Enough! Our strategies are discussed within the council alone. I want all men rested before we need to fight again, and that’s final.”

Arthur suddenly pushed his chair back and got up, walking towards the door. Merlin followed him with his eyes, wondering what he was up to.

“Where are you going?” Uther snapped. Leaving now was a great insult to Uther and the Knights, as well as the royal guest.

“Studying, obviously,” Arthur said sarcastically and tilted his head towards Merlin for him to follow.

Merlin stood stock still for a moment. That meant he had to leave the room. And he certainly didn’t want to do that. He wanted to stare at Buonamico until his eyes were dry, his belly warm, and his legs heavy. He held the pitcher close to his chest. When Arthur roughly opened the door, he knew that there really was only one option.

He placed the pitcher onto the table and followed the prince out.

**

“Sire?” Merlin asked, once they had reached Arthur’s chambers.

“Save it, Merlin, I don’t need yet another lecture!” Arthur called out and paced restlessly around the room.

Merlin bit his lip and remained quiet. He wasn’t planning to push, but with Arthur on edge like this, there was obviously something else going on. Only, he didn’t have a clue what that was. To try and calm him down, Merlin walked over to the fireplace and began placing logs.

“Don’t be daft, it’s warm in here.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said and stopped. He walked over to the table and poured some water for Arthur into a glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” Arthur said.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Can I get you something to eat then?”

“No, just…” He waved his hand around the room in agitation.

“I’ll clean up then, sire?”

“It would be a surprise to me if you did, Merlin,” Arthur added sarcastically.

With a small grin plastered on his face, he began gathering some of Arthur’s clothes, avoiding where Arthur walked as well as he could. He threw them on the wash pile and tackled the clothes hanging on Arthur’s changing screen, shaking them out roughly.

“Could you be any louder?” Arthur complained while still pacing uselessly.

“It would help if you told me what’s _really_ bothering you, sire,” Merlin offered with a sharp lift of an eyebrow.

Arthur passed him closely and shot him a glare. “You wouldn’t understand.” He leaned against the window frame and looked out at the rain falling down over the courtyard below.

“Well, right now I certainly don’t.” He folded the clothes and placed them in the wardrobe.

Standing at the window was something Arthur only did when he was avoiding something else entirely. It worried Merlin that Arthur wouldn’t talk, so he remained as quiet as he could.  

“It’s just this whole sudden affair, posing for some barely known painter!”

Merlin regarded him curiously and calmed his shaking hands before asking, “Your father claims he is famous. Does he bother you?”

“I don’t trust him. He’s been invited from King Alined’s court. Our alliance is not that strong. Why would he come here after sharing meals and wine with him? What is he really after?”

“You don’t trust him?” He tried to sound neutral, he really did. What Arthur said rang true, but it was a terribly roundabout way to gain information. Besides that, Merlin was willing to give Buonamico a chance for entirely different reasons.

Arthur crossed his arms. “He hasn’t given us reason not to. Not yet.”

With a sigh, Merlin abandoned the clothes and walked up to Arthur. He clearly needed some support. “Isn’t he the same as traveling minstrels or acrobats?”

“Merlin, this man is taking hours of our time better spent elsewhere!” Arthur complained.

“It’s only been two days. Why don’t you see it as a prolonged feast?”

Arthur turned to him and stared hard. “Because I’m supposed to sit still all that time! This is no feast.”

“What, instead of… training?” Merlin had almost said ‘fucking around’, but didn’t voice his projection out loud. He decided to change tactics. “Well what _do_ you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” Arthur yelled, exasperated.

“That’s hardly helpful,” Merlin said and gestured at the room. “Think of something you could be doing.”

Arthur looked down and Merlin saw that he was silently swearing. At last he calmed down and took a deep breath. “I need to study, and…”

Merlin nodded at him and tried to hide a smile. At last, he was getting somewhere. “And what? Maybe I can help.”

“Ugh.” Arthur rubbed his face.  

He walked up to Arthur’s desk and opened the top book of his pile of material. “History of the Northern Kingdoms. Can’t be so bad, can it?” Arthur ignored him and stared out of the window again. Merlin sighed. “How long has it been since you’ve actually picked up any of your history books?”

“Almost two years.”

Merlin gaped at Arthur’s back. He knew that Arthur sensed his judgment because his back stiffened and he crossed his arms.

Scratching the back of his head, Merlin made a decision. “Well, let’s start shall we?”

This time he had Arthur’s attention. “What are _you_ going to do?”

Merlin glared at him. “Help you, obviously. Or do you want me to leave you to your reading alone?”

Arthur glanced at the book and turned away.

Merlin sighed at his incessant avoidance. “What’s really the matter?”

With great difficulty Arthur finally admitted, “For the past few years I’ve only read the short notes brought in by messengers. I’m not a good reader, I just…”

In his surprise, Merlin practiced cautious patience, offering Arthur room to finish his sentence.

Running a hand through his hair, Arthur finished. “It’s just so much to read. It’s _too_ _much_!”

Chewing his cheek, Merlin sat down on Arthur’s chair, pulling the large book close and opening the first page. It was decorated with a capital _B_ surrounded in beautiful knotwork patterns. “Before the arrival of the Romans, 55 years before the New Calendar, there was—”

“What are you doing?”

Merlin smiled. “I’m reading it to you, of course. I know you remember things when you hear them. And if you’re not good at—” Arthur’s look turned dark for a moment, and Merlin stammered, “Er, if you don’t enjoy reading, then I’m going to do it for you.”

“Why would you do that?” Arthur scoffed.

“Because,” Merlin said, glaring up at him, “it’s not me who’s going to rule this kingdom one day. _You_ will be the one sending men to the battlefields to fight and to die. And one day, when Gaius is no longer here, I will be there to patch everyone up. When I do, I want it to be because I believe in all your choices and confidently stand behind each one of them.”

Arthur looked wounded and uncertain. But at least he didn’t retort.

Merlin felt satisfied with that. “Now, we’ll begin with what we know about the ancient folk in our kingdoms and move from there.”

“Fine!” Arthur conceded brashly, but he sank down in a chair and actually remained quiet.

**

Arthur left his room that evening after dining alone. He couldn’t stand his father for company, or Morgana for that matter. Beth had entered twice, once to see if he was alright and the second time to grimly bring him dinner when he proved to be unresponsive to her seduction attempts.

Now, he was done listening to Merlin reading Northern history to him and he needed to write up one of Geoffrey’s tasks. He chose the auditorium above the library again. It was quiet and he would be able to concentrate.

Except that that wasn’t going to happen. Not after seeing the spring in Merlin’s step as he had made for the door, after hours of reading—without so much as a look back. Arthur knew what was up.

When he entered the auditorium and lit several candles, it was eerily quiet. Arthur quickly hopped onto the desk next to the wall and slowly lifted his head up to peek into Buonamico’s room. He felt rather guilty about skipping his chore completely, but he was simply too curious to know if anything was happening.

Apart from the rack to one side of the room now draped with two drying towels, the scene was virtually unchanged and quiet. Buonamico was just done brushing his hair—Arthur couldn’t remember a time when he had witnessed any of his knights brush theirs—and putting his golden earring back into his ear.

He was wearing a finely decorated tunic with green and blue patterns this time, and tied a cloth belt around it, expertly closing it with a knot at the back. He straightened his clothes out and ran a hand through his hair before tying it up loosely with the black ribbon he commonly used. Arthur watched the display of vanity with great curiosity. All this for Merlin?

Many quiet minutes passed and Buonamico spent it sorting his paints. He scratched the back of his neck before digging into his large travel chest and picking up a square wooden box with an ivory top, decorated with pieces of coloured glass. Then he opened the jar with the ultramarine pigment that Merlin had brought and reached into the bright blue powder with a two-pronged tool to produce a small metal key.

Arthur stared. Why would there be a key in the pigment jar?

Buonamico stuck the key into the box with the ivory top and it opened with a soft click. Inside of it was a rich golden powder that sparkled just by itself without being stirred. Buonamico took a small wooden spoon and poured some of the golden powder into a glass jar and stopped it with a wooden cork.

That seemed like a lot of work to Arthur.

A knock came at the door and Buonamico hastily closed the box, even though the door hadn’t opened yet.

“Who is it?” he called out.

He sounded nervous to Arthur. That was strange. Buonamico hadn’t evers seemed nervous before.

“Er, Merlin,” came the voice softly through the door. “I’ve brought some wine.”

“Just a moment!” He was hastily placing the key back into the bright blue powder and closing the jar, then hid the ivory-lidded box back among his belongings at the bottom of his chest. Finally, Buonamico stored the golden powder among his bottles of paints, without even labeling it.

Arthur frowned. Gold was indeed precious, and he _had_ been robbed by bandits. But he trusted Merlin with all his purchases, so Arthur wondered why Buonamico was on edge. He felt his own heart thud, and he wasn’t certain whether that was because of the painter’s hasty cover-up or because Merlin stood outside the door.

Buonamico swung the door open and pulled Merlin inside.

“I managed to bribe—”

Arthur’s eyes widened.

Merlin hadn’t spoken more than those four words before Buonamico had him pressed against the closed door, the wineskin gently pulled off Merlin’s shoulder by its strap and lowered to the ground, and Merlin’s mouth thoroughly occupied.

Arthur swore mentally and stared at the spectacle he had wanted to see, imagined seeing, and yet it surpassed his wildest imagination. Their kiss was nothing like Arthur shared with women, whose mouths he treated chastely before getting down to business. This was filthy, wet, and passionate, their heads tilted and their tongues savagely engaged.

Instead of waiting patiently for Buonamico, the clear aggressor, Merlin roamed his hands up and down his back. After a minute, Merlin’s hands lifted up Buonamico’s tunic around his waist and grabbed the painter’s rear, kneading greedily and pulling his hips close against him.

Without really understanding why, Arthur felt his body respond again. Their passion strung unknown chords inside of him, humming pleasantly until he felt his cock swell and his mouth salivate. This shouldn’t be happening, he thought rationally. Why was he even up here, watching? At least this time he wouldn’t let it get completely out of hand like the day before. He would only watch to satisfy his curiosity, nothing more.

As Buonamico’s mouth attached to Merlin’s neck, burrowing into that ridiculous red scarf, and Merlin banged his head against the door, sighing, “Ahhh, Mico,” Arthur knew there was no other place he would rather be. Buonamico pushed Merlin’s jacket off his shoulders, where it fell to the ground at the doorstep and—

Something entirely unexpected happened.

Merlin pushed Buonamico backwards, a hungry look in his eyes that Arthur had certainly never seen.

“I was waiting for you,” Buonamico said playfully, stepping back at the push of Merlin’s outstretched arm.

Even though he was taller than Merlin and could overpower him in Arthur’s estimation, he followed suit when Merlin turned him around and undid the sash at his waist. He didn’t even sputter when Merlin lifted his arms and removed the tunic.

So much for dressing up, Arthur thought. That had been entirely pointless.

Beneath the tunic Buonamico wore a white undershirt and when Merlin attempted to remove that too, a hand stopped him. “Slow down, sweet Merlin.”

Merlin let out a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. “I want this,” he said, his voice deep and rich. “I thought of nothing else all day!”

Highly doubtful, Arthur thought to himself, as they had studied history together for hours.

One of his easy, dimpled smiles. “You sat with me for two days, and you are already so confident.”

Merlin paled in horror. “Did I misunderstand…?”

“Oh no!” Buonamico said and stepped closer, cupping Merlin’s cheek and pressing his forehead against the other’s. “I love it. All that fire you bring. But I want to take it slow, enjoy all of it.”

Slowly, Merlin’s arms wrapped around Buonamico’s middle and held on. “Please,” Merlin said, and Arthur could barely hear it. “I know you will leave when all this is done. And you are so very smart… a-and handsome.”

Arthur felt his ears burn at their amorous confessions, and he made certain not to move. The last thing he needed was for them to look up in his direction and see that they were being watched. His hand slowly lowered to stroke his own cock through his breeches, tentatively, and it eagerly responded with the lightest friction. His guilt was easily overpowered with lust once more, mingling sweetly and igniting the fire in his loins.

“What’s your hurry, sweetling?” Buonamico asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

Merlin gulped. “There’s no one here for me.”

Buonamico seemed to wordlessly understand. He nodded and pressed soft kisses against Merlin’s lips, light and gentle. “Not even one of the knights?”

“No,” Merlin said between kisses. His eyes were closed and his hands were exploring again. “There were two…” He kissed Buonamico’s neck. “They were secretly together.” He pushed open the V-neck of the white shirt to expose skin, hand roaming over Bounamico’s chest. “They died in two consecutive battles only a month apart.” His hands ventured, aiming to seek out the skin on Buonamico’s back, when his wrist was grabbed.

Arthur frowned and wondered which ones Merlin meant. He’d never even considered that this had been happening right here at Camelot, where there were willing, playful women aplenty, and… In a way he understood it. Only he couldn’t place it yet.

Buonamico pulled Merlin’s hand up and kissed his fingers. “You’ve been with others, yes?”

“Of course,” Merlin said. “And I know that I want you. I even washed and shaved today.”

Jaw dropping, Buonamico’s sigh was dangerously close to a moan. “Mercy to the Gods that I may witness a creature like you!” He began undoing Merlin’s scarf. “Undress for me.”

“That’s not fair!” Merlin argued, leaning in to kiss him again. “It’s your turn!”

Arthur snorted. That was such a Merlin thing to say. Then he ducked behind the wall and covered his mouth with his hand, terrified that he’d been heard. He inwardly cursed himself for his lapse, but to his relief, he only heard more kissing, smacking, and soft, wet sounds coming his way. If anything, just hearing them was driving his imagination even wilder.

He shouldn’t keep looking. He understood well enough where this would lead. It would be too intimate for him to witness. He’d never thought about men that way before, seducing other men. And he hadn’t even known that two of his knights, the sons of noblemen, had been together this way. It was a new world for him. And perhaps it was just because of that—because honestly, how was this even going to work?—that Arthur’s curiosity won over.

He slowly lifted his head again and peeked through the glass panels, where he just saw how Merlin, already naked, was sitting on the edge of Buonamico’s bed, leaning back on his elbows, while the painter’s tongue was busy slicking up Merlin’s erection.

Arthur’s eyes went round as saucers. Only two of his conquests had serviced him like that before. He felt a throb, then another, and a third in his breeches as he watched, and he wasn’t even _touching_ himself. Arthur unlaced his breeches and took himself in hand again, despite his promise to himself not to.

Buonamico’s hands roamed up and down Merlin’s slender legs, which were pale as snow and stood in contrast with the painter’s olive skin. Merlin had indeed shaven, take away all his hair below—another thing Arthur had never witnessed before. With the slightest tilt of his hips, Merlin was moving back into the rhythm set by Buonamico, who bobbed his head up and down in slow, teasing motions, and made Arthur want exactly that treatment for himself.

Wait…

Arthur shook his head and tried to clear his mind.

Merlin leaned his head back and sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath passing. His eyes were closed now and his Adam’s apple bobbed occasionally when he swallowed and tried to calm himself. His right hand went into Buonamico’s hair to stroke it, to slow him down. “Sssooo good,” he whimpered, small noises of pleasure escaping his throat.

Arthur stilled his hand around his cock and held onto the ledge of the window. He was mesmerised by the pouty shape of Merlin’s mouth while he moaned, the curve of his cheekbones, and by the slant of his eyebrows as he was clearly enjoying this. He’d never seen that face on him before, and something in the back of his mind told him he would also never forget it.

Perhaps he knew then what Buonamico saw in him.

Buonamico pulled back and looked up at Merlin, whose body was trembling and shivering in ecstasy. “Your skin is the most beautiful I have ever seen, as if the snows had not yet melted. How is it that you do not have a single mark?”

“I don’t know. Why do you wear an earring?” Merlin evaded and crawled back onto the bed, pulling at Buonamico’s white shirt.

Again, the painter resisted that it be removed from him, and instead he stood up to take off his soft wool breeches, kicking them away and crawling onto the bed to cover Merlin’s skin with his own. The contrast between the tones of their bodies was mesmerising when their legs entwined. “It is a tradition from my Persian grandfather’s side. I have had it since I became a man. Do you like it?”

“Mmhmm.” Merlin nodded and pulled Buonamico against him, so their bodies rutted together beautifully. For a few minutes, nothing could be heard but panting interrupted by soft moans, while lips, tongues, and hands explored all exposed skin.

Arthur’s hand followed the rhythm of their motions, and he found his eyes dry when he finally remembered to blink. Even so, guilt for watching never left him completely, twisting and adding feelings of shame as he watched.

Merlin rolled on top of Buonamico and sat up to straddle him, looking down. He rocked his hips against the other’s in a slow teasing motion and let his hands roam the skin visible at the deep V-neck of Buonamico’s shirt. “Why won’t you let me undress you?”

Arthur stilled his pumping hand in order to learn the same information that Merlin wanted to know. He held his breath, just to be sure, and tried to ignore the sound of blood gushing through his ears.

Buonamico leaned back against the pillow and let out a deep sigh. He plastered a smile back on, but this time it was forced. His hands came up to run over Merlin’s side and his fingers plucked eagerly at him to pull him close. Merlin let himself be lowered back on top of Buonamico and kissed him. He wiggled one of his hands between their bodies.

Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, Arthur saw from his perfect angle how Merlin’s hand was massaging Buonamico’s sac, his fingers gently mauling, rubbing, and ever so slightly pulling at his balls. “Oh, fu—” Arthur swallowed his profanity, as lust welled up in him at that gesture alone. He lowered his free hand and copied the motion on himself, the sensation quickly increasing his lust. But he couldn’t finish, not yet. He didn’t want to—and yet he wanted it _so badly_.

“You don’t want to tell me?” Merlin asked at last, lowering to close his lips over one of Buonamico’s nipples.

“Ah! Your devilish mouth,” Buonamico sighed, tossing his head, which made his ribbon come loose and allowed his hair to frame his face.

Merlin let go of the nipple and moved to the other one, his hand taking a firm grip of Buonamico’s cock and stroking slowly. “You said you wanted slow. This is slow, right?”

Arthur watched as the muscles in Merlin’s back moved, shoulder blades poking out from time to time, as he pleased Buonamico with his hands, body, and tongue. He regarded Merlin’s rear as it was displayed freely in his direction, and while it was odd to see someone’s balls hanging there, right for him to see, it was also natural, like there could not be anything else. He was surprised and confused as to why he wasn’t bothered by seeing their bodies or by their distinct lack of breasts. Perhaps because their thresholds had been absent and their haste so evident.

“Just make your mouth work for me, Merlin.” His _r_ had a rolling quality to it.

Merlin lowered himself further and worked Buonamico with his mouth, much in the same way that had occurred the other way around before. Arthur was greatly confused, wondering about their constantly shifting dominance. Even now that Merlin was clearly pleasing Buonamico with his mouth, he was moulding the other’s legs to his liking, grabbing and groping, and never once removed eye contact.

Within minutes, Buonamico was panting heavily and threw his head back, warning, “Ah, I will… I’m going to…” His hand reached down into Merlin’s dark hair, but instead of letting go, Merlin changed his rhythm to firm, long sucking motions, his cheeks hollow and his eyes closed in concentration. Buonamico’s body jerked and his hips bucked up several times in an unmistakeable climax.

Arthur turned away because Merlin’s dedication had not wavered and it was a thought Arthur could not bear.

He steadied himself against the wall and cooled his forehead against the stones, taking out his handkerchief to wipe his hands. He was still hard and throbbing and his body wanted more, but that act had put him off. At least he had his answer. Merlin was definitely in service of Buonamico, submissive. It was the only way it made sense.  

As he looked down at his handkerchief, he suddenly heard a deep, long moan, clearly Merlin’s, and was roused back by a fierce urge blooming in his gut. He didn’t even know when his hand had moved to stroke himself again, but the feeling of his fingers sliding over his head again at the mere envisioning of their sex sent a shiver down his spine. But he had more than just his imagination to work with.

He turned again, daring to look into the room and stared, slack-jawed and utterly floored at Merlin, who sat atop Buonamico’s shoulders and lustfully drove his cock into the painter’s mouth in a fucking grind. His hands leaned against the wall above the headboard and he leaned his head back in bliss. Buonamico’s hands firmly held onto his rear and stimulated the motion.

Merlin’s small, heated moans drifted over, and his ‘ _uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn_ ,’ were all that Arthur could focus on, as a sudden, blinding pleasure shot through his body, spasming through his hips, and spilled out into his handkerchief as he pumped himself to completion.

Just as he let go of himself, his knees wobbling and the heat of his mess in the handkerchief reaching through to his palm, he had a moment of clarity.

There were footsteps on the stairwell right outside the auditorium.

Nearly falling over himself, Arthur jumped down from the table, pocketed his mess—though he was probably going to regret that later, and put himself back into his trousers only _just_ in time to see Geoffrey open the large door.

He sat at the table, but instantly knew he was fooling no one since his parchment was blank and his books were closed. His heart thudded wildly in his throat at seeing the older man appear in the doorframe mere moments after touching himself.

“Prince Arthur!” Geoffrey shouted, and Arthur winced at the volume.

“Yes?” he asked, playing it cool.

“You have not written a single word! I was hoping to appease your father with your hard work, but this is predictably disappointing.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair and gathered himself, suppressing an unreasonable burst of anger ready to pop out of his chest. “On the contrary, this was _exactly_ what you were hoping to find. Rest assured, I’ve nearly completed the first of the books you have left in my care.”

Geoffrey bristled. “What an outright fabrication. You have learned nothing about discipline!”

“You forget your station. Has my father not removed you as my tutor ages ago? It is only by his grace that you may aim to humiliate me five days hence. Until then, I will be learning and memorizing all of your _stupid_ books!” He’d gone too far, he realised. He was _furious_ at Geoffrey’s interruption, though it related more to his private time than anything related to the upcoming test. “Your task for me is a waste of my precious learning time. Tell my father that when you speak with him. And do bow down on _both_ knees, he likes that.”

The man glared at Arthur and folded his hands into his sleeves. “I shall tell him everything, young prince. You cannot speak to your elders like that!”

“And you just threatened the heir to Camelot, did you not? What do you think your petty moves will accomplish eventually when I take over? I would advise caution as to where your threats are aimed. I learned _that_ from the Caledonian Western Pict warlord’s actions; killing off his council to rule by himself, was it?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Geoffrey sputtered, his eyes wild and furious. “I am a _highly_ valued member of Camelot!”

“Highly valued in the council yes, but on the streets they barely know your name. Murder would leave no lasting effect. If you recall that action didn’t end well for the Pict lord, getting killed by a mere shield bearer in return, so why should I even do that?”

The old man narrowed his eyes, but calmed down somewhat at the obvious mention of studied fact. “Your studies are tantamount to your rulership, my lord.”

“That’s better,” Arthur said condescendingly. “Now stop wasting my time and leave me to it!”

With a spectacle of an unpleasant bow, Geoffrey made his retreat out of the auditorium. Arthur would _not_ be talked down by a man like that, who offered only the bare minimum while Arthur risked his very life on the battlefield each time his men went out to war. What good was a council if Arthur had to know everything by himself anyway?

He swore and sat down at his desk. He waited until Geoffrey was completely out of earshot, the heavy door at the bottom of the stairwell falling shut with a thud, before climbing out of his chair again. He was on the desk in an instant and held his head just below the window to try and hear what was happening in the room below.

“This is good wine,” he heard Buonamico say. “No seal. Whose is it?”

“Local brew,” Merlin answered, sounding at ease. “One of the scullery maids owed me a favour.”

Arthur lifted his head minutely until he could peek again. It felt like a risk each time, to be discovered. So far, the slightly tinted glass panels had worked well to hide him from them.

Merlin and Buonamico lay tangled in sheets, their bodies flush and their arms and legs entwined. A thin sheet barely covered their waists in a poor pretense of modesty. They languidly kissed, urgency expended, feeling safe.

Watching them kiss made his lips tingle and his heart ache. It annoyed him, and he couldn’t figure out why. There were always plenty of women offering themselves to him. He hadn’t been a month without someone in his bed since he was seventeen and a young, widowed duchess had opened the world to him. And yet none of those encounters had seemed as genuine or intimate as this. They were always quick and to the point, impersonal.

Watching Merlin and Buonamico didn’t make any sense to him, because they were men. They weren’t supposed to be genuine or intimate at all. He became more agitated by the minute.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned the room to distract himself. He tried to look into the open case where Buonamico had hidden that suspicious ivory-topped box. There were several small burlap bags that caught his eye. They had strange sigils painted on them with two crossed daggers displayed on a green background. Arthur tried to recall what it was, but he had heard so many houses and lordships pass today that he couldn’t quite place it.

“How often do you steal wine then?” Buonamico asked.

It dragged Arthur’s attention back and sent Merlin into a fit of relaxed chuckles. “I’ve hardly drunk wine in my life.” He took a deep sigh and recomposed himself. “Wine is only for the wealthy. I drink ale sometimes at meals, and I don’t go to the tavern.”

Well, that was another lie, Arthur thought.

“Where I am from wine flows free. I cannot imagine a life without it,” Buonamico sighed and leaned back, folding an arm under his head.

“You speak of wine like Gwaine speaks of ale,” Merlin grinned.

Buonamico merely lifted his eyebrows, uncertain who this person was. Arthur, meanwhile, failed to suppress a grin, because Merlin was spot-on.

“Tell me another tale,” Merlin urged him, leaning on an elbow, head resting on his palm. “Tell me about Achilles. I’ve heard about him.”

“The greatest warrior the world has ever known!” Buonamico said with a smile.

“Well, the second greatest…” Merlin countered without hesitation.

Arthur didn’t fight the pride that welled up in his chest, though he was surprised to hear Merlin speak of him this way without any relevant people present to bear witness to his character. The phrase felt… genuine.

Buonamico chuckled, his smile turning indecent. “The prince fought well, the other day, but he is just a boy. Do they sing about his great feats?”

“They do, or they will,” Merlin insisted.

“I know what you’re asking,” Buonamico said teasingly. “You don’t wish to know about Achilles. You are asking about Patroclus.”

Merlin blinked owlishly at him. “Who?”

Dramatically, Buonamico sighed. “The Greeks lay siege against the city and the people of Troy, battled for ten years, it is the greatest warrior’s tale in the Iliad. Achilles had conquered Lady Briseis in a battle by slaying all her family. She was to be a war slave for him, but Achilles had an apprentice and servant, Patroclus, who proposed that Achilles and she were to be wed instead.

“Achilles was gravely insulted by his commander, Agamemnon, who had taken Lady Briseis for himself. Now, their wedding seemed impossible, and Achilles was bitter because all his glory had been taken away.”

Merlin listened keenly, as did Arthur from his position at the window.

“Achilles turned to Patroclus and explained his woes, claiming he refused to fight in the war. Some say Achilles loved Briseis, others say he loved Patroclus. Because Achilles refused to fight for so long that the Trojans booked major advances in battle.

“Patroclus took Achilles’ bronze shield and helmet, so that the troops would not recognise that he wasn’t him and led the attack, which Achilles had refused. The warriors thought he was Achilles and found great courage. The battle was spectacular, but Patroclus was killed by his opponent, Hector, who thought he had the opportunity to slay the great Achilles.”

Merlin frowned. “So Achilles didn’t fight?”

“He fought,” Buonamico said and nodded at him. “After hearing of Patroclus dying at Hector’s hands, he lamented and wept openly. He mourned like a lover would. Achilles’ mother had a shield and armour set made for him, forged by the gods themselves, which gave him magical protection. In his rage, Achilles killed so many men that the gods intervened to ensure his frenzy would not alter the fate in store for Troy.”

That caught Merlin’s attention. “The fate?”

“The sacking of Troy, yes. If Achilles was not stopped, it would have come too early.”

Merlin licked his lips. “What stopped him?”

Buonamico sat up and continued. “He faced Hector, who was lured to stand in front of him by the gods, so that his rage might find a vessel. Hector knew he would lose the battle and pleaded that Achilles would leave his body intact after his death. But losing Patroclus had given Achilles so much grief, he shouted, ‘my fury would drive me now to hack your flesh away and eat you raw, such agonies you have caused me!’ to him.”

Merlin looked quite shocked at that.

Buonamico laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “He did not eat Hector’s body. But Achilles did bind Hector’s feet behind his chariot and dragged his corpse around the city of Troy so that all could see their great hero defeated.”

For a long time, Merlin seemed to think about all that Buonamico had said, staring at the crimson sheets over their legs. Arthur stared as well, taken in entirely by the gruesome tale of revenge.

At length, Merlin spoke with a decisive tone. “Arthur would never do that for a squire or a servant, not for someone who wasn’t noble.”

“Then perhaps he is not that noble himself.”

Arthur frowned at those words, offended, even if he could hardly dispute them.

But Merlin wasn’t done. “He would only fight for what is right, not for his personal feelings.”

Buonamico ran a hand through Merlin’s hair. “All you have told me so far is that Arthur does not love. If he does, perhaps he will be as unstoppable as Achilles himself.”

“Would you?” Merlin asked him. “Fight with such rage, if you loved someone like that?”

“I don’t know. I do not like war. I would find a different way.” His hand trailed over Merlin’s shoulder. “What about you?”

Arthur tilted his head to look, standing on the tips of his toes.

Merlin eyed Buonamico sharply. “Until my final breath.”


	5. Reveries

Arthur woke to the sound of breakfast being placed on the dining table. He cracked open an eye and drowsily watched Merlin at work, clearing plates from the night before and cleaning out his goblets before delicately filling one with water and the other with ale, as usual.

He turned onto his stomach, only to find that it was particularly hard to do so. He sighed into the pillow as all memories of the previous night came flooding back to him, and his cursed body responded with _interest_.

“Rise and shine!” Merlin said, drawing the curtains open with a rough yank.

Arthur growled at him, or at least hoped it sounded like that.

“It’s a brand new day, the sun is out, and a new opportunity to seize the day!”

His muddled brain couldn’t handle the cheer. He was barely even awake. He thought about insults but uttering those would undoubtedly result in some even merrier reply.

And he knew why.

Just the thought of it sent a flush through his body, the concept of sex alluring yet utterly impossible. It left him confused and frustrated.

“Sire?” Merlin tried again, standing closer this time.  

Arthur just wished he would leave, so he could have a moment in private. But then he didn’t trust his thoughts right now, the images of last night’s spying still vividly dancing before him. He couldn’t believe Merlin was speaking innocently like that with him.

“The king has requested your audience as soon as you are dressed,” Merlin began and started pulling at the blankets.

 _No!_ Arthur thought. “You do know how to ruin a man’s day right from the start,” he grumbled.

“One small positive thought in the morning can change your whole day,” Merlin chirped.

“Could you be _any more_ cheerful?”

Merlin smiled at him and stood back, waiting patiently for Arthur to sit up in bed, so he could begin serving breakfast.

Arthur knew how obstinate he could be about that, so there really was only one answer. He sat up, deliberately slow to hide his erection, and pulled all the blankets up. Besides, he was not in the mood to give in to anything yet. “Strawberry cider,” he said and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“My lord?”

“The merchants from Kent are still in town are they not? I want strawberry cider with my breakfast. Go get me some.” It would be hard, if not impossible. The drink was out of season and if available, likely already sold out. That ought to do it.

Merlin frowned at him, opened his mouth to speak, but then thought the better of it.

“Well?”

“Anything else I can occupy myself with?” Merlin mocked, keenly sensing a senseless errand when one was given.

“As a matter of fact,” Arthur began, glaring at him and his stupid smile. Merlin was pissing him off this early, and his prospects looked just as dreary—sitting still for many hours, studying and then… oh God, if he would watch again, who knew what would happen. “I need you to do something for me, without mentioning it to anyone.”  

Merlin perked up at that and folded his hands behind his back in anticipation of the task.

“I need you to keep an eye on Buonamico. I don’t trust him.” Arthur keenly studied Merlin’s response and saw a momentary flinch, quickly corrected and guarded. But it was definitely there.

“Any particular reason, my lord? He has the court’s favour.”

Clever, Arthur thought, to avoid his own consideration to the matter. “Several, in fact. I’ve been thinking. He is a wealthy man without coin, yet lacks the finer understandings of courtly manners. He has not asked us once to retrieve his coin from those bandits, as we all expected him to, and yet to complain about King Alined. Furthermore, one of the bags he carries has a sigil—” He swallowed. How could he explain where and when he had seen that logo? “You need to be on guard.”

Merlin bowed to him and turned his back, returning a moment later with Arthur’s breakfast tray. Although slightly withdrawn, there was nothing in his attitude betraying his nightly affections. “As you command, my lord. After I return from the market, I shall look out for anything untoward or any malicious design.”

Digging into his breakfast, something burned in the pit of his stomach. He had just sent Merlin to keep even closer tabs on that man. And while he knew what would come of it, and he desperately longed to watch again, it also pissed him off. He chewed angrily and looked over at Merlin standing beside the dining table, holding the goblet with ale, a doubtful look on his face.

“Bring it here,” Arthur ordered. “I shall indulge in cider another time.”

“Yes, sire.”

**

Merlin stood at Arthur’s shoulder and studied Buonamico as tasked. It was a task he greatly enjoyed. King Uther hadn’t been pleased with Arthur’s tardiness and had once more offered for Morgana to pose for the painter first. Now, it was the prince’s turn, and he was less than amused at his constant reduction in rank.

He had noticed how Sir Leon had given himself the head position at Morgana’s left hand once more when the council had convened. Now he was gone, after providing the latest news to the council. Leon took it upon himself to train the knights for the day, much to Arthur’s obvious chagrin. The news hadn’t been good. Patrols reported that the Saxon King, Beroun, had set his course towards Camelot. A great gathering had been seen of stray Saxons whose armies had been decimated or who had fled the war efforts completely, reinvigorated by Beroun’s words. It put Arthur on edge, and Merlin saw it in his features.

His apparent mistrust of Buonamico added to that, and he looked positively sour. He was staring the oblivious painter down with some effort, but for some reason, Buonamico simply took the painting work seriously and didn’t flinch, even for a moment. Merlin admired his attitude in the face of the nobles, even relished it.

As Merlin expected, Beth had also joined the serving crew, and she was placing herself between Merlin and Arthur to offer him wine. Arthur looked at her, which took her by surprise, then dismissed the offer. Merlin held his large pitcher of ale close to him. Arthur wouldn’t be drinking wine today. He didn’t know how he could tell, but he always could. He suspected it had something to do with Uther.

The king had been hard on Arthur these past few days, and news had spread that the history test was going to be quite extensive. That didn’t sit well with the prince. Merlin wondered how much influence Geoffrey had called in with his friends on the council to increase the severity, for the man looked mighty pleased today and even made a joke or two.

“One thing remains unclear,” Uther brought forward, clearly not impressed by frivolity. “How is Beroun funding his war efforts?”

Geoffrey turned to the king and paused scooping a third helping onto his plate. “The Saxons have plundered all of the Eastern coasts, or what was left of it.”

Uther shook his head. “Even so, it can’t be enough to win the favour of different tribes, who weren’t united under a single banner.”

Arthur turned to his father. “Perhaps his magic is persuasive enough. That makes him a formidable enemy.”

Buonamico frowned at Arthur, and Merlin assumed it was because the pose was changing again. Merlin knew what Arthur was doing, playing to the strings of his father’s humour, to let him ride out and face them. And Merlin saw that Uther knew it as well, and remained unmoved.

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “You only know that he has magic, not how powerful that magic is. Perhaps he can do no more than tie the laces to his breeches without using his hands.”

Geoffrey coughed. “My lady!”

Arthur regarded her with annoyance. Merlin glanced at Gwen as they both fought a smile.

“Please, my lord, if you could hold still?” Buonamico asked. “I need to capture your essence.”

“My what?” Arthur snapped at him.

“Do as the man says,” Uther barked at him. “We are _all_ looking forward to seeing the results.”

Merlin could almost hear Arthur roll his eyes.

Buonamico smiled at Arthur and nodded. “Perfect, sire.”

Merlin bit his lip. This was going to be a very long day.

**

After several hours of dutifully reading to the prince, Merlin was finally done with his evening chores, and he could visit Mico. Nothing remarkable had happened with Buonamico all day. The only particulars he might have had to relay to Arthur about the painter so far were private ones, and he was not about to share those. For the first time since his arrival in Camelot, Merlin was wanted, and he yearned for it with his whole body.

He was let into the room by Mico, who told him happily that Uther’s painting was nearly done. Merlin took off his jacket, shoes, and socks while Mico placed the candelabra in the centre of the room for him once more.

“Am I not sitting?” Merlin asked.

“I used too much ocra, today you stand.” He poured wine for the both of them and handed Merlin a cup.

“Admit it, Mico, you just want to see me naked,” Merlin said with a smirk, feeling cheeky after their tumble last night. Buonamico was dressed in his painting shirt, however, and didn’t show signs of drawing Merlin to his bed. He paused and looked at Mico with longing.

“Most certainly. But I want to capture you this way first.” Mico took out his pile of sketches and sat down at his artist’s chair at the back of the room. He fixed Merlin with a smile that removed all doubt.

The way he’d said ‘first’ made Merlin’s heart jump and he undressed more quickly. He stood naked and held onto the candelabra just like two days earlier, weight fully on one hip and his head slightly to the side. The laurel crown was back in his hair. He felt positively sexy.

“Just keep still for a while. I am almost done with this.”

Merlin bit his lip. The distance between their bodies was tantalizing. It made him nervous and he fought his body’s reaction as much as he could for now. Instead he busied himself by looking about the room to see if anything looked odd or out of place. His thoughts drifted to Arthur, who could never know that Merlin was with a man he distrusted. Suddenly, everything felt _wrong._

“What’s an ‘ocra’?” Merlin asked, to distract himself.

Mico grinned at him. “Ah, sorry, you call it ‘ochre’. It’s a powder filtered from the earth where iron is rich. Then you must heat it until it is as dark as you want. But carefully, because its smoke is poisonous.” He looked up at Merlin and continued sketching. “I mix the ochre with chalk and eggs to make red paint. Today I painted the king. All my red is gone.”

“Iron paint,” Merlin asked, heart fluttering. “Is that common where you are from?”

The man laughed easily. “It is common and old as the sun and the moon. There are caves with ochre paint, from the time before symbols and letters. That’s why paint is so beautiful. The trade is passed through countless generations.”

“Like your holy blue?” Merlin asked.

“Exactly. You know about the new religion, yes? The empire teaches about the Holy Maria, mother of prophet who walked the earth. We can only use the ultramarine for her, in the southern lands.”

Merlin pondered about this. “But you are using it here?”

Mico smiled. “I cannot travel without meeting new religions. The blue is holy for them, but not for you, am I right?”

Merlin thought he understood. “We don’t have that religion here. If anything, there is the Old Religion, but that’s mostly practiced by the Druids. And I think the Aen Sidhe partake in it as well. They use colour to mark out their ranks.”

“In all cultures colours are symbolic.”

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “The druids use symbols and rites to honour the Great Oak and the lands around them. There’s a great power that comes from nature and balance. They practice atonement for our deeds, and to spread kindness.”

“Is that so? It seems that this religion is not so very different from the one practiced in the South.” Mico said and took out the jar with the blue pigment. He carefully scooped out the tiniest amount of powder with a wooden tool and prepared it for use. “You know a lot of these druids then?”

“Me? No,” he answered quickly. “Camelot law forbids it.”

“Oh?” he asked innocently. “But you know so much about them.”

He shrugged and tried not to feel vulnerable. “I must adhere to the law. I do not speak with them. But I was taught. And I listen.”

“You listen and learn very well. How old are you?” Mico wiped his hands on a dirty cloth and piled the sketches together.

“Eighteen. I’ve been told I look younger.”

“The age of the prince?” Buonamico asked.

“Prince Arthur is nineteen. Only,”—the corner of his mouth lifted dangerously—“sometimes he is like a five-year-old.”

Buonamico laughed. It was a warm sound that filled the room. “You must not let him hear you say that!”

Merlin shrugged defiantly. “He doesn’t listen to me, not really. I hold no value to him.” He’d tried not to make that sound too dramatic, but inside he felt it. It was like a gaping wound in his chest.

“I know the sort of man he is,” Mico said and leaned forward. “Each success carries his name and each failure yours.”

“That’s not true.” Merlin frowned. “He owns up to his missteps and has never stolen another man’s victory in all my time here.”

“You say he is a man of honour?”

“Without question,” Merlin said confidently, and he felt it was right.

“That’s it!” Mico stepped up and approached him. “There is that look again. Something you truly believe. That’s what I drew. Do you want to see?”

Merlin’s bravado deflated, and he let go of the candelabra at once, scratching the back of his neck. “Should I?”

Mico looked insulted and passed him, to sit on the edge of the bed, placing the drawings flat against his chest. “You do not trust my fine eye?”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin turned to him. Mico was a tease. He decided that he quite liked that. It was stupid to feel anything real—this would never last long—but it was also stupid to contradict him. “Is my nudity no testament to my faith in your ability?”

The glint in Mico’s eyes was testimony enough to his appreciation. “Then look through my eyes.”

He sat down besides Mico and looked at the drawings on the man’s lap. Sketches of his face and bust, showing various angles and expression. The candle light shone over his features to highlight his cheeks, nose and chin, and the muscles in his neck. Merlin saw he had particularly spent time to work out the details around his eyes and had coloured them in with ultramarine. Slowly but surely, Merlin began to smile. “Is this what I look like?”

Mico’s breath was on his shoulder. “Do you see that you are beautiful?”

Merlin hung his head and felt his heart constrict. It was not a word he could accept. “You have exaggerated your kindness…”

Gently, Mico’s fingers combed through Merlin’s hair. “I wonder, do you ever look at yourself in the mirror. Properly I mean? Not to shave.”

“I don’t own a mirror. Besides, that would be vain.”

“Vanity is not your reflection. It is how you treat the reflection that stares back at you. Remember Narcissus? He crossed a sacred line.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Merlin argued. “If you are beautiful but you do not have humour, courage, or resilience, then what is there to really show?”

Mico laughed heartily and drew Merlin close. “Do you know, I could travel many kingdoms and not find a boy like you?”

Merlin gave up resisting and finally allowed himself to melt in Mico’s arms, capturing his mouth in a hot kiss. Sometimes he still doubted. He didn’t attract much attention to himself, and he most certainly didn’t attract people to share a bed with him.

But Mico had made those wondrous drawings far too flattering and far too refined. Also, his hands were roaming up and down Merlin’s leg, making it impossible for him to think straight. Merlin’s erection was already hard, eager, much more eager than he thought he could feel.

Merlin pulled back and took a deep sigh. “I can’t pay for any of these,” he said and offered Mico back the pile of drawings. “Or for any of your time.”

“You are kind, so kind,” Mico whispered against Merlin’s neck. “I must confess my darkest secret. I just wanted you, Merlin. If I can have you tonight, you are free to take the sketches.”

Everything in Merlin’s body wanted to say yes. Yes to those stunning sketches, yes to all Mico’s attention to him. But he swallowed down his whimper and shook his head. “You can have me willingly, Mico. But I’m not purchasing the sketches with this.”

Mico let go of his neck and looked up at him through his lashes. “At least let me thank you then. Lie down, properly.”

Merlin licked his lips thoughtfully and moved until his head was on Mico’s pillow. His eyes flitted across the room and the walls in anticipation of what was to come. He thought he saw a moth out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone in a moment. Mico puttered around the room, before returning with a basin and a bottle.

“What did you mean thank me?” Merlin asked. Sometimes Mico didn’t make any sense, giving and taking as he pleased and valuing everything in owed property. It put him on edge, though not enough that he wanted to leave. His dick had clearer ideas, resting hard and hopeful against his belly.

Mico placed the bottle inside the basin of warm water and tugged out the stopper. He had washed his hands which were cleaned of any remaining coal from the sketches. “I ought to thank your feet for getting my eggs at the market today and for posing for me. Come.” Mico took Merlin’s left foot as he sat on the edge of the bed and held it in his lap. Then he poured oil, warmed from the water in the basin, onto his hands and placed the full surface of his hands on the top and on the bottom of Merlin’s feet.

Though it wasn’t as good as a mouth on his cock, Merlin felt a strange sense of relaxed pleasure humming through him at the warm, smooth capture of his cool foot. Mico’s fingers pulled all the way up over his feet, over his toes, and repeated the motion several times, until Merlin felt the tugging of his toes all the way in his shoulders and neck, releasing all the tension through his body. Again and again until he felt like he was floating on a raft, limbs heavy and loose.

He opened his mouth and gasped for air when the fingers pushed up over his heel and ankle and continued their deeply relaxing motions, drawing circles and teasing tendons. Merlin could safely say he had never felt so spoiled and pampered in his entire life. Mico’s fist rubbed in circular motions against the arch of his foot, and Merlin couldn’t help moaning in response.

It was the strangest thing. The thought of someone touching him there, a part no one touched except a mother or a physician, a part never considered apart from washing day. It wasn’t sexual. And yet it felt so good. Merlin felt thoroughly relaxed. That was until Mico picked up his other foot, added more oil to his hands and offered it the exact same ritual. Then he was positively soaring in ecstasy.

And all the while, Mico was silently watching him, observing each expression with delight. His fingers strayed higher, over Merlin’s calves and shins. More oil was added each time his hands became dry. Even his calves felt blessedly relaxed after that. Climbing onto the bed and placing Merlin’s knees apart, Mico settled closer and rubbed with one hand over each of Merlin’s thighs, up and down, up and down, up and down again.

Each time that Mico’s hands nearly reached his waist, his thumbs would trace dangerously close to Merlin’s groin, and he loved it. Just the tease of it. Just not enough to get off on, but enough to make his dick crave a real touch. Without instructions, Merlin knew that he shouldn’t touch himself, but wait for Mico to tease him.

And though he watched and waited, he was not prepared when the hand came and enclosed his length, pulling in a firm downwards stroke. His hips bucked and it felt like all his excitement could be released at once. His mouth was wide open and he gasped for air, unbothered if his gasps came across as needy moans.

Once more the pull came, rolling his skin all the way down over his cock to expose the head. Mico added some more oil between his hands and began the torturously slow pumping of his erection with both hands, one of his palms mostly focused on circling over the head and the other steadily rising up to meet it, gripping firm.

All of that bliss lasted less than a minute, when Merlin began involuntarily fucking up with his hips. Mico sensed that he was close and let go, his eyes hungrily stealing over him. He waited, hands placed on Merlin’s thighs, just under his knees, and didn’t move.

Merlin sat up and reached out to cup his face, kissing him, and felt Mico’s urgency in the way he invaded Merlin’s mouth with his tongue, hard and insistent.

“Merlin,” Mico groaned as he pulled away, the rolling _r_ there again. “I want—”

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, pressing his forehead against Mico’s. “Yes.” He lay back down and lifted his knees further, giving Mico all the access he wanted.

One of Mico’s warm hands came to rest on Merlin’s chest, as if to hold him down, while the other trailed down over his cock, further over his balls until it reached his hole. “You washed?”

“Yes,” Merlin said again.

At that, Mico hunched his shoulders and set to work. His well-oiled finger began estimating the resistance of Merlin’s ring, gently pushing until a digit was inside. Merlin closed his eyes and tried to fight the tension in his abdomen and thighs. Slowly, the finger went in and out, in and out, until a second was added. A small sound escaped Merlin’s throat at their intrusion, and he shivered.

Mico looked up at him with concern. “More oil?”

“Nnng,” Merin pleaded. The hand on his chest left to pour more oil carefully down Mico’s fingers, and everything went smooth after that. “Mmm,” Merlin sighed each time that Mico’s fingers entered him, feeling around and spreading him open. “Ahh,” he responded equally eloquently when they touched that spot inside of him.

With his free hand, Mico resumed jerking him off, while his fingers sought that place again and again. Merlin grabbed the sheets and threw his head back, overcome with heat and pleasure. Every time he was breached and roughly stimulated it became better and better until his heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. His hips moved up and around the sensation by themselves and suddenly everything was too much. He arched his back, planted his feet in the sheets and used Mico’s hand for completion, fucking up into it until he spilled in several thick thrusts and bit his lip not to moan too loudly.

Moments later, his head felt heavy on Mico’s pillow and his arms and legs were limp. He was filled with an abstract sense of immense gratitude for the intimacy offered, that at last, at long last, he did not spend his evenings alone. He didn’t want it to mean anything serious, it wasn’t serious, but his heart sung in the afterglow of pleasure, delighted and lame.

Mico cleaned Merlin’s chest with a towel, dampened with the basin’s warm water, before tossing it aside somewhere in the room and began loosening his belt. He was hard, his prick dark like the rest of his body, swollen and leaking.

Merlin reached out for him wordlessly. Breaking through the imminent lethargy, Merlin guided Mico’s cock down between their bodies, not even bothering to try and have him remove his shirt, and waited until he felt the press. He wanted this.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mico whispered in his ear.

“It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” Merlin whispered, still gathering his breath.

Mico held onto Merlin’s hip and leaned on his other arm as he pushed into him in a deliberately slow move. “You feel so good,” Mico whined against his neck, spreading kisses, the rough hairs of his beard scratching over Merlin’s skin. He remained entirely sheathed for a good minute before daring to move.

Merlin had placed his feet against the sheets and felt Mico begin to move between his thighs. He wanted this, he wanted someone who admired him, to have him, to be cherished, held and fucked before the chance was gone. Until this moment he didn’t know how much he needed it. And it was also so very wrong.

It was all about using and being used, except that Merlin never wanted it to be Mico. In his mind it was Arthur, always Arthur. Every single day for the longest time. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? How could he have strayed so far from his own convictions? Had Mico’s sweet words been enough to make him forget? Could he forget? He was overcome with a sense of selfish misery and closed his eyes to block it out. Not now, not after all that Mico and he had shared. He had wanted this. He _did._ Right?

Oblivious to Merlin’s sudden anguish, Mico had his way with him, sliding in and out with force. It felt so good to be wanted. Merlin decided he felt no regret. He had not been admired like this before, and Mico was, in a way, perfect. Merlin held onto him and whispered soothing words to him until he felt the burn of their activity in his muscles and his ring. Mico sounded like he was close, so Merlin reached down and squeezed Mico’s rear, urging him forcefully until he felt the other gasp, groan and shudder, stuttering to a halt.

To his relief, it was over quickly. Merlin relaxed and leaned down, his hands sliding up over Mico’s hips and to his back. He could do this. He could get himself back together and pretend that everything was normal. Entirely by accident, his fingers ended up under Mico’s white shirt, and Merlin’s fingertips were met by uneven skin.

Merlin’s eyes went wide. He looked down and as his chin was resting against Mico’s shoulder, he was at the perfect angle to look at the skin hidden under Mico’s collar. There were scar marks, Merlin couldn’t tell what from, across his entire back. He felt Mico freeze.

This was wrong, Merlin knew. Mico didn’t want this. He moved his hands quickly on top of Mico’s shirt and held him tightly, closed his eyes and pretended that he hadn’t noticed a thing. His mind raced with all the implications. Mico collapsed against him and let out a satisfied sigh.

**

Arthur shuddered after his release. He had gone straight up to the auditorium, after seeing Merlin out the door of his chambers and had waited patiently. It had taken longer for Merlin to show up than Arthur had anticipated, but that was probably because Merlin had washed a second day in a row. He would have to stop that, or else he’d get sick.

He sat down on the table he’d been standing on and rubbed his eyes with his clean hand. The other still held his handkerchief with his come. At least he’d seen a few things answered today, though they still bothered him. He couldn’t imagine any of that feeling good, and yet Merlin had responded in rapture.

Merlin had been ravishing to look at, Arthur thought, tousled and wrecked and…

He shook his head. That wasn’t right at all. And in a strange way it was. Whatever Mico had spotted, Arthur was beginning to see it too. It wasn’t always there, but there was _something_ about him.

Arthur realised that this was the first time he’d seen Merlin come. He had missed it yesterday when Geoffrey had walked in. Perhaps that would have been equally blissful to witness. He had to admit, it was also the first time he had seen any other man come, and it was bizarre to him how familiar it all felt. Perhaps because it was Merlin, or perhaps it reminded him of his own endless string of beating the ham.

He wished he’d seen the drawings better. From his angle they weren’t clear, only blotches of black, which he assumed were for Merlin’s hair, and dark shadows around his big ears. He had been livid when Buonamico had suggested Merlin exchanged sex for them. He didn’t know what that man had in store for Merlin, but as far as Arthur was concerned, he was not to be trusted.

Though he was also alerted at Merlin’s talk about the druids. He had spoken about them as if they were just folk who carried on their lives in the woods and didn’t take up arms against the traders on the roads and villagers surrounding Camelot. Too many times, Arthur had been informed that another village had been raided and they were getting closer each year. Now with the Saxons on their other borders, they could end up besieged if they weren’t careful.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. These things had been said in private and did not imply significant subversion. After all, Merlin had also defended him when he’d had no need to. Though it was hard to admit, he’d felt pride and security in his chest hearing Merlin speak of him that way. Faithful and true.

**

After Arthur had sat down and spent a good hour or so on Geoffrey’s task, to show his father that he was indeed studying, there was a bright light that made him look up. It came from Buonamico’s room.

In an instant, Arthur had abandoned his homework, grateful for the distraction, and peered at the room below. He wasn’t certain what he was looking at, but it shook him to the core.

Buonamico was alone in his room and held the small jar with golden powder over a mixing cup filled with a basic white mixture of egg and chalk. Each time the golden powder was dropped into it, more light escaped. Arthur concluded with a certainty that it had to be magic. But as far as he could see Buonamico wasn’t performing magic. He was using something which _had_ magic. Except, he couldn’t be certain, not yet.

He watched in silence as the mixture was stirred until it became paint, contained in the same way as the other cups. The painting of King Uther was placed upon the easel. Arthur could see the details very well on the large canvas. Uther wore his crown, full ornate robes, and a long, red Pendragon cloak. Arthur realised that that’s where all the red paint had gone. On the left and right top corners were the sigils used for Pendragon and Camelot.

Buonamico took a large brush and dipped it into the gold paint until there was plenty of volume on it.

Arthur’s eyes widened. That was far too much paint. He only worked in thin layers—he’d _said_ so himself. Was he going to ruin Uther’s painting, his own commission work? His father had been eager to show it off as soon as it was ready, so that seemed out of the question.

With confidence, Buonamico smeared large globs of the golden paint straight onto Uther’s portrait. His arm made wild movements to cover the painting’s full surface within minutes and spread it out. The paint was nearly transparent, thin, and a sparkle of gold was visible like a varnish. The picture underneath was unaffected.

Arthur stared in silence, wondering if this was just a finishing touch or something malicious.

But then Arthur had to blink, getting the feeling he was looking at the painting crosseyed. It began to move. A cold fear sank into the pit of his belly as he watched magic happen. Uther’s figure sank down onto his knees and reached up, and the red cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders was removed, his crown broken into pieces on the floor beside him.

Instead, on the throne sat a different figure, a woman with blonde hair and a slight shape. Her skin was pale and her dress was a pale blue. Beth? No, her features were different. Her entire figure glowed unearthly and Arthur recognised her at last. She was beautiful and looked just as Arthur remembered her from that witch’s trickery. Instead of two symbols at the top, there were three.

Arthur recognised the one for House Du Bois in the centre cleary and instinctively reached for the ring around his index finger. His stomach roiled as the twisted scene revealed itself.

Uther’s hands reached up and wrapped around Queen Ygraine’s throat, while his expression was one of begging. The more he squeezed, the more deeply red the cloak draped over her lap became, until it looked like a dark wet stain. Eventually, her head angled back oddly and her eyes stared lifeless.

All the while, Buonamico was watching in silence, taking in the scene.

Arthur clenched his fist. He blinked away the tears that pricked in the corners of his eyes and turned away from the scene. He couldn’t watch anymore. It was too painful. He didn’t know how Buonamico had managed to make that image appear, but it shook Arthur to his core. What if that meant Morgause was right? What of his father’s involvement?

No, it had to be a trick. It had to be information for another kingdom, perhaps King Odin, perhaps even King Alined, another ploy to start a war on another front.

Arthur ran to the door, only to halt at the very last moment. There was no way to call the guards from his current position without explaining that he had been looking into Buonamico’s room. Skipping his studies and submitting to frivolous distractions. Or the cum-stained tissue stuffed casually into his pocket. He felt the shame of his observations overwhelm him, like a heavy stone in his gut.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he even look Merlin in the eye? So far, the painter had not attacked anyone. He was simply entertaining.

And yet this was magic. It had to be stopped, by the king’s decree. Only, Arthur wasn’t particularly happy with his father right now. He felt a bitter spite towards the man who sought to demean him and set him back.

He clenched a fist and wished he knew what the right answer was. In any case, going straight to the king was out of the question. He needed to think about what he was going to say, and how he could have learned about it. No. He would keep a closer eye on Buonamico, that was all. He would get the right information from Merlin. And he would discover what the painter’s next move was before deciding whether he needed to die.


	6. Layered

The following day was sweltering, the sun heating the dark tiles of the banquet hall. It was quiet, occupied only by Arthur, Mico and a severely hung over Merlin. Arthur was staring at Mico as if he wasn’t worth the light of the sun on his shoulders, and Mico treated Arthur’s silence as a perfect opportunity to paint. Merlin had rarely felt so uncomfortable.

Today was the last day of painting, and Arthur had been left entirely alone for this event by his father and by Morgana. Without any relevant information brought to Arthur about Buonamico’s activities, Merlin hadn’t gotten more than monosyllabic replies all morning. He hadn’t seen Arthur in such a bad mood since last summer, when he had discovered the knights did not fight him seriously on the training field. He had nearly hammered Leon to a pulp in response, until the knight had given him a decent fight back.

Merlin saw the same dark glint in Arthur’s eyes today.

At least the prince didn’t need to wear his armour this time.

This gloom stood in stark contrast with anything Mico had offered him. They had shared nothing but delight, good drink and high spirits. He should be feeling happy, warm and wanted, with prospects for more. But Mico’s stay would be over when the paintings were done. At least Merlin was having these adventures; and he was desperately grateful for them, even if they weren’t perfect. With Mico’s departure, all colours would disappear once more and leave Merlin to his solitude.

Perhaps it was that discrepancy which made him entirely incapable of functioning. He had shared his body with Mico, but his mind and heart still belonged with Arthur. Even now, standing in the shadow at Arthur’s elbow, he knew it was true, and it tore him up inside. It was a hopeless case, and yet he could not refrain from wanting. His longing was only ignited now that his body had prospects for sex. It was unfair to either of the men, and he felt deeply troubled. He kept his head low and hoped to stay out of sight, for he did not trust his reactions.

All that could be heard in the large banquet hall were brushes with wet paint being slapped against the wooden panel for the newest layer of glazes, feet shuffling, and the occasional cough echoing through the room. Merlin’s head pounded, his nerves were on edge and he hardly even dared to move.

Arthur’s foul mood had been further fueled by the king’s ward. At breakfast, Morgana had let Arthur know that today was selected purely for him, because Buonamico hadn’t had enough time to paint him yet. She had said so with a smile, knowing that Uther had placed her back onto the pedestal that she had enjoyed some years prior. She knew very well that her time was less trying than Arthur’s right now and was making full use of it.

“You will do nothing today,” she had told him, placing a hand on her arm, nails digging in. “Nothing becomes you very well.”

Arthur had been less than amused, had snatched his arm back, and Merlin had been left to salvage the day by begging the kitchen staff for several fruits and meats to occupy the prince as he sat, tied to the chair by the words of his father. So, Merlin was burdened with the task of mollifying Arthur and no means to do so.

Merlin contemplated. King Uther had been unusually stern that morning. His whole countenance had shifted from the days before. He had left the hall as soon as Buonamico arrived to take his seat near the window, and his greeting had been minimal. Merlin didn’t understand it. Thus far, Uther had made use of the man’s arrival to bring interest to Camelot, have the news of the portraits spread, and begin the preparations of the upcoming feast for their grand reveal. Many invitations had already been sent out by messenger.

For some reason Uther seemed to have changed his mind completely and had halted several of the finer preparations, simplifying the feast and reducing the spend. It was a sign for the household to remain alert for upcoming turmoil, perhaps even war. The ease and delight of the past few days had shifted markedly. The only problem was, no one knew why. There had been no news about the West Saxons, the traders from Kent had left, the weather was dry and warm, and not so much as a monster had been seen near Camelot in weeks. There shouldn’t be anything that changed. Merlin racked his brain for what the cause might be.

All this lack of actual threats had left Arthur bored and listless. Of course, the tasks Arthur was required to perform were not the ones he wanted. The history lessons had gone well the past few days. Yesterday, Arthur had even seemed quite lively while they compared two sources about the lands of Eire and Roman sources similarly describing Hibernum. It had been a challenge to decide which source was more accurate, and it had almost been fun.

But what Arthur ever craved was the glory of battle and victory, the honour of saving Camelot, and earning the string of feasts celebrated in his name. Uther was a man who enjoyed feasts, most of all if they involved his son. Books did not warrant feasts, and there was no reward for the test. As far as Arthur was concerned, the topic to study was moot. It would not advance him in any way. Merlin wished desperately that he saw it differently.

He felt sorry for Arthur, or he would if the prince wasn’t making his malintent known to Buonamico with such open severity. Merlin imagined that Arthur might surge up any moment from his seat and pierce the man through his chest for merely coughing the wrong way. He felt for Mico’s burden, but he also felt for Arthur. He was torn and miserable.

**

Arthur pushed open the door to his chambers, which were thick with heat. “Thank goodness that’s over!” He sighed dramatically.

He felt oddly relieved that it was time to study. It was strange. But at last he was done with Buonamico. As the painter had not used any magic, he decided to lay the issue to rest. There was nothing cowardly about that at all. It simply served his best interest. Besides, Merlin was unaware of his knowledge, which was for the best. Now, they could begin reading.

Merlin wasn’t looking too happy with Arthur’s statement, but he shrugged it away. He had no care for the painter, and neither should Merlin.

Arthur lingered by the door to watch Merlin take off his jacket before taking a seat at the desk. He wondered if Merlin felt the same way about studying now, or if he simply wanted to work through the material as quickly as possible, in order to get away again. Arthur rather expected that his personal sentiments were not mirrored.

“More about the Pax Romanum today?” Merlin asked, as he worked out which book they needed today.

“Yes, that will do.”

Merlin stroked up his sleeves and set to work finding the page they were on.

Arthur observed him: he was wearing his purple shirt. Arthur only recalled seeing him wear this particular shirt a handful of times, usually chosen on festive days or when things went well. He rarely chose to wear it. The scarf on top was wound tightly around his neck.

Arthur couldn’t help commenting. “Take off that ridiculous scarf, it’s far too warm for that.” He caught a glint of fright in Merlin’s eyes.

“I’m fine, sire.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur complained. “The candles are melting, and you’re sitting like that?”

“It’s not a bother, really,” Merlin insisted.

Arthur advanced on him with a wilting glare. He wasn’t gainsaid often, and he tolerated it even less. It was an odd request to be sure, but Arthur knew what it hid.

Slowly, Merlin lifted his hands and reluctantly undid the scarf from his neck, revealing two dark spots to one side where he had been marked.

Arthur swallowed. He felt a nagging discontent at their reveal. It brought all the nightly espionage into the realm of reality, where Merlin’s reports and Arthur’s vigilance had not lead to anything solid. Those spots on his neck had proved that Merlin had been owned. It irritated him that he couldn’t pinpoint his distaste. Merlin had been owned by another and… and Arthur hadn’t been there first.

Merlin looked unhappy, but didn’t back down from the obvious scrutiny over his appearance. He held his lips stiffly together and waited for the onslaught.

Arthur felt the usual greedy sensations crawling over his skin. It was commonplace for Arthur to take first pick. That was how it was done. Only… this was _Merlin_. And Merlin wasn’t a woman. It was absurd! And yet this unhappy envy had settled in his gut like a rock. Someone had chosen Merlin and hadn’t thought to even consider Arthur’s rank as Prince. A person as oblivious to courtly manners as Buonamico, who wasn’t even a nobleman, for crying out loud!

He cleared his throat to stifle the suffocating anger welling up inside.

“My lord?”

Panicking, Arthur sought for a change of topic. Anything other than what he was thinking. This was beyond ridiculous! He sputtered, “You’ve cut your hair.”

Merlin raised a hand to the back of his head, where his hair was far shorter than it had been, shrunk down, and gave Arthur the strangest look. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur regretted his words immediately. People had haircuts all the time. What did the habits of his servant matter? Offering a careless shrug, Arthur walked forward and dropped into his chair.

“Well, get on with it then,” he said, ignoring Merlin’s discomfort. He didn’t need another part of his life turned upside down. “I don’t want to sit here all day,” he added. _Neither do you,_ he thought miserably.

Opening the large book in front of him, Merlin began reading through the thick volumes of narrowly placed lettering on old paper. Arthur listened to Merlin prattle away about Emperor Augustus, but couldn’t help his thoughts drifting as he tried to puzzle through the strange thoughts in his head.

That morning, he had tried to look at the training ground from the window, to observe the men. He knew their activities, and he saw what Sir Leon was trying to do. Either way, none of them held a special interest to him. That was obvious from the first observation. At least Merlin had something of a look to him. Even that was something Arthur would accept, though it grieved him sorely to agree with Buonamico on anything regarding taste.

By now, he was also fairly certain which two lovers among his knights Merlin had mentioned had died on the battlefield. The first was Sir Timotei, a lower ranked knight, formidable in strength on the battlefield and gentle among his peers. The second one to die had been Sir Marcus, a northern lordling from an important family, whose death had demanded a silent, mournful ride back to Camelot, his body covered by the bear skin cloak he wore to battle.

Marcus’s body had been buried in the graveyard behind Camelot, near the old oak on the hill, despite his insistence to be burned after death. Uther had forbidden the change in tradition. Marcus was a decorated champion, who had frequently bested Arthur at jousting and occasionally even in the melee trainings. He would be buried as custom demanded. The other bodies of the fallen knights and soldiers had been burned as normal. Sir Timotei’s ashes were stored in an urn.

After some consideration, he remembered that Sir Marcus had brought a sorrowful, reckless brutality to the battlefield when they faced their foes once again. While normally a skirmish specialist, always observing which part of the battle could break the enemy’s formation, the champion had not held back, and it had cost Marcus his life.

As he was contemplating all of this, it dawned on him that Merlin had stopped speaking for a while now.

“Is there a problem, sire?”

Arthur heard, _‘You weren’t paying attention at all, were you?’_ “None at all. Continue.” He waved his hand dismissively. When Merlin didn’t continue, Arthur gave him a hard glare.

Merlin skimmed the words on the page before him, and Arthur swore he saw Merlin’s cheeks colour. For a horrible moment he thought that Merlin might be aware that he had been watching them from the auditorium. That he knew! He sat up straight and tried to calm the sudden sick feeling in his gut, bile rising only to be swallowed down at the last moment. He barely recovered when Merlin looked up again.

“We might switch to another book, perhaps?” Merlin offered.

Arthur didn’t miss his caution, nor the fact that Merlin kept his eye-contact, despite the nervous dimple in his chin. He shook his head, failing to block away the onslaught of thoughts flooding his mind. He trusted Merlin, at least he had, so far. Even if he wasn’t very good at what he did, he was honest. And what Arthur had done was far from honest.

“Are you unwell, sire?”

Even now, Merlin kept eye-contact, despite his obvious discomfort and his sexual activities out in the open, unmentioned, untouched, and unresolved. Better trained servants, like George, Beth, Joanna, Gwen, Maude, and the others, would avert their eyes when confronted like that. But not Merlin. Never Merlin. And Arthur had come to depend on it so very much, his tactless directness. Only now, to Arthur’s distress, it was _his_ gaze that was wilting. It was unheard of!

He looked up at Merlin, forcing himself to fully acknowledge the other’s presence in the room, gripped the arms of the chair to wipe his sweaty palms and stared back. He would not be overcome so quickly. “I said keep reading.”

As expected, Merlin kept his gaze, though he flinched minutely. Their stalemate lasted for another full minute before, to Arthur’s satisfaction, Merlin was stared down and he submitted to the text before him once more.

“You won’t stop reading until this chapter is done,” Arthur added, to reinforce his victory.

Merlin continued reading, and Arthur had no idea whether those words had already been read or not. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to the new words either. Strangely, his gaze was hooked once more and he thought that it might be impossible to ever get enough.

**

Merlin gave everything he had into the kiss he shared with Mico that evening. He was determined to find joy and forget about the stupid prince, at least for as long as this affair lasted. He could do it. He could.

Because Mico smelled great. He wasn’t certain if it was the collection of paints laid out on the table, the wine cups placed on the bedside table, or simply the smell of Mico’s warm skin. He raked his fingers through Mico’s hair and pulled him closer, until Mico’s short beard had made his chin raw and red.

“Tomorrow the paintings shall be revealed. Are you looking forward to it?” Mico asked, whispering into his ear, while his hands disappeared under Merlin’s shirt.

Merlin sighed and wiped his mouth dry. “Of course,” he lied. “I’m sure it will be great. Many nobles and guild masters will attend.”

Mico chuckled and pulled back, planting a small kiss on Merlin’s nose. “Yes, it will mean work for you. Worry not, they shall be too awed by my paintings to order much drink.”

It made Merlin laugh. For some reason, Mico took his chuckles as a sign that it was time to get undressed, tugging his shirt out of his belt. “Can’t we share a drink first?” Merlin asked cautiously. He wanted his brain muddled and soft before they began.

“Yes, my boy, we must,” Mico said happily. “But I want to look at you. Let me have that pleasure?”

Merlin felt his grin slowly spreading across his cheeks. “Yes, sure,” he said and looked down. His body was instantly overheated and ridding himself of clothes felt like the best idea anyone could have proposed to him. “I think… I’ve started to like being looked at.” He coloured even more at the admission.

“Magnifico! Then I am delighted to have given you that, at least. And to have painted you.” He raised his hands into the air to praise some unknown deity.

Merlin chuckled and stripped down further. As he took off his shoes and socks, he saw that Mico was barefoot as well, making use of the cool stone tiles the castle offered. He sat down on Mico’s bed, got rid of his breeches and made himself comfortable on the pillows. “Will you tell me some more stories?”

“You wish to know all of the Greek and Roman tales? It will take some time,” Mico said with a grin.

“I was surprised to know they had tales… a-about male lovers, I mean. That is unheard of in these parts. Are there many more?”

With a big sigh, Mico sat down on the floor next to the bed and placed a hand on Merlin’s exposed knee. “No. There are some. I have memorised them for my own interest. But I know normal stories too.”

“I liked the special ones,” Merlin urged softly.

“Not all tales are sweet,” Mico said, picking up his cup of wine and took a large sip. “Like the tale of Ganymedes.”

Merlin tilted his head and stroked the fingers on his knee. “Will you tell it?”

Mico nodded and began. “What you need to know about Greek culture is that it was common that a lord would own a young boy. And sometimes this boy apprentice would be taught in the ways of pleasure, serving the lord, while he was training to become a skilled master.”

“Like serving the prince?” Merlin blurted out, his heart making a funny jump in his chest.

“No, there is not enough difference in age. Arthur would employ a young boy, maybe twelve. For you, it would be Master Gaius.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Mico laughed out at the expression of pure horror on Merlin’s face.

“Do not worry, little Merlin,” Mico said with his rolling _r_ , “I have not seen a second culture with this employment.”

“So, was Ganymedes a master or did he serve a master?” Merlin asked, eager to switch the topic away as soon as he could.

Humour still twinkled in Mico’s eyes, before he set to telling the story in full. “Ganymedes was a beautiful young shepherd, who caught the eye of Zeus, the ruler of all the gods. Not all stories allow that the boy was willing. Some say that Zeus transformed himself into an eagle to avoid suspicion and captured the young man, so that he would become cup bearer of the eternal gods. Zeus paid the boy’s father horses from the stock of the gods themselves. They were great horses, and the family accepted the gift.”

“Was he a slave?”

“No, he was given a role at court. So, he worked for them and was a vessel for the lust of their king. Zeus had a wife, Hera, who did not like the boy for he inspired Zeus on a deep level, spiritually as well as by his beauty. She liked it even less when Zeus granted Ganymedes immortality. This boy is the only one of Zeus’s lovers who was ever made deathless and unaging. At the very end, Zeus transformed Ganymedes into a constellation in the heavens, for aquila, the eagle.”

“His immortality was a gift?” Merlin pried. It was an interesting story, perhaps the most interesting he had heard thus far.

“Yes, for serving the gods.”

Merlin swallowed. “This is too much of a gift. Especially if he was not willing.”

Mico nodded. “Plato himself says this was all made up. It’s only some authors who say the boy was unwilling. Others said he knew the honour bestowed upon him and he knew Zeus, and it was only his abduction which he refused, not the position.”

With a shrug, Merlin downed the rest of his wine. This story strung something within him that should best be put to rest. “You said there were more gods with male lovers, right? It can’t have been the only case?”

“Oh yes, Apollo bedded a youth named Hyacinth until the jealous West Wind killed him. We cannot be surprised that Bacchus, the god of wine, poetry and ecstasy, lay with several men, because he lay with everyone, including satyrs! One of his lovers was Adonis, the god of male beauty and love, who normally lay with Aphrodite, the very goddess of love herself. And even Heracles, who is said to have had over five hundred children, had seven male lovers. He famously abandoned his quest for the golden fleece when his young lover, Hylas, was captured by dryads in the marshes, so the ship sailed on without him.”

Flopping back against the pillows, Merlin shook his head. “I wish all these tales were placed in the books. It would make studying lore much more interesting.”

Mico laughed heartily at that, his eyes stealing over Merlin’s body without any reserve. “Many would try to prevent those publications.”

“Well, it’s wrong to try that,” Merlin said resolutely and sat up. “I know it.”

Mico’s hand slid up Merlin’s leg the barest minimum. “Would that the king spared his seat for you instead,” he cooed.

For a moment, Merlin gaped at him. Then he shook his head and closed his eyes. With a force he wasn’t willing to acknowledge, he was dragged back to the reality of where he was, who he was, and what he needed to do. “Impossible,” he said.

“Surely, you would change the kingdom for the better?” Mico suggested.

“It has to be Arthur.” Mico wouldn’t understand him. He knew that already. He hoped that his belief was clear in his voice.

Fortunately, Mico didn’t respond. He turned instead to pour more wine for them.

Merlin accepted it gladly. He was surprised how easily he had taken to drinking wine and how easily he craved for more. It made him drowsy, and it was easier to forget his predicament. But he couldn’t let it go too far, or he might tell Mico something he shouldn’t.

Mico stared at him intently. He was gazing at him as if Merlin held all the answers. “If there was anything you could change, in the past or the present, what would it be?”

Licking his lips nervously, Merlin thought about that. “Anything at all?”

“Do you need time to think about it?” Mico asked and took a sip of wine.

“I suppose not,” Merlin said.

“Oh? I am ever amazed by your quick convictions. What would it be?”

“I would wish that Queen Ygraine would have lived. It would mean that King Uther’s bitterness towards magic would not have begun. She was a great queen, I believe, but her life was not worth over a hundred and fifty thousand innocent deaths.”

“Many wars were started, yes?”

Merlin nodded.

“Then are the deaths innocent? In war they are not, I believe.”

Merlin looked down at his cup and sought for the right words to explain to Mico. “Those who were slaughtered also lost their mothers and fathers, some lost their children. It was never enough to just kill the ones they considered guilty. King Uther sits locked up in this castle, but that isn’t the world out there.” Merlin sat up straight. “You should see how Prince Arthur lights up when he’s outside the gates and among his people. He _cares_. He doesn’t show it, but he does. I know it. His eyes stray to the beauty of the country, and his heart bleeds for the fates of those with lesser fortunes.”

Mico remained unconvinced. “So he looks down from his horse atop the heads of the people?”

Merlin pursed his lips and frowned. “No. He descends and lifts them up. He crawls through mud and blood on the battlefield so that his people may sleep safely. He risks his very life for them. He doesn’t care so much about the lines on a map, but about the image his victory brings.”

With great gestures, Mico spread his arms so that wine sloshed onto the floor. “You speak highly of his vanity!” He gave Merlin a cheeky wink.

A wry smile. “Perhaps. But it is not without cause.” If he had to admit it to himself, Merlin knew that Arthur was certainly more self-absorbed than he should be. Or perhaps he wasn’t. He was destined to rule Albion after all, and that weight rested on his shoulders day and night. He decided to shift the topic. “But how can I speak of that, while I am sitting here before you without my clothes on? Is that not vanity?”

“No, because you do not tell me how to look at you. You do not claim my views.”

“What if I wanted you to like what you saw?” Merlin challenged, feeling cheeky.

“I might reject your wish and proclaim you perfectly imperfect!” Mico countered and got up. He put the wine away and brushed his hands over his tunic, the gesture ingrained.

Merlin was stumped, gaping at Mico without knowing how to reply. “Imperfect?”

Mico stood at his table and picked up one of his brushes. “Yes! You are asking me to look with my artist’s eye, are you not?”

“Maybe?” Merlin wasn’t certain where this was headed.

“Well then,” Mico said and held up a brush with a dab of white. “You seem to have a little… spot, just there.” He reached out with the brush towards Merlin’s neck.

“What?! No!” Merlin scooted back over the bed, careful not to spill his drink.

Mico, however, climbed onto the bed and continued to reach out. “I seem to remember placing it. But you are asking for perfection, are you not? Well, your skin is the purest I have ever seen, and I need to keep it that way.”

Merlin held his drink in front of him defensively. It wasn’t much of a defense, but then, there was laughter bubbling out of him before long. “It’ll heal. I like my imperfections.”

“Hmm, I like them too. Now hold still,” Mico said with a hearty chuckle.

Finishing his cup of wine, Merlin stared at Mico as he was armed with that brush. “Fine,” he allowed at last and tilted his head. He liked how Mico was on his knees, leaning over him and asking him to submit to something silly and harmless like that brush. His belly fluttered and he felt blood flowing into his cock. And he did not know shame.

The coarse hairs of the brush touched the bruised skin on his neck, leaving dabs of something cool behind. Stroke after stroke, his hickeys were being touched up. Merlin snorted and turned his head away to stifle his chuckles. Mico looked excessively serious while he painted.

“This is no laughing matter,” Mico complained. “You’ve made me go too far. Come, I will have to clean it up.”

“Right, right. Clean it up,” Merlin snickered, the wine warm in his gut and his guard down.

Mico took him by the wrist and pulled him from the bed. “Come, come. Don’t be shy. You are a great canvas.”

“I am most certainly not,” he said, looking skeptically at the arrays of paints and brushes.

But Mico was cunning, and had pulled an arm around Merlin’s middle, offering him gentle kisses against his mouth. All thoughts fled from Merlin’s mind as he melted into his gentle molestation.

Mico broke their kiss and held out a blue brush. “I believe I shall begin with a little blue.”  

“Blue?” Merlin echoed, eyeing the tip of the brush with a sarcastic look in his eyes.

“Your colour is blue, most certainly,” Mico pressed. He brought the brush forward carefully and trailed a line down along Merlin’s breastbone, all the way to his navel. Merlin tried not to squirm and held his lips together. “Ah see!” Mico said, and lifted his brush to Merlin’s face. His other hand came up to cup Merlin’s cheek, and he gently drew two lines, right under Merlin’s cheekbones. “Right there.”

“I trust your trained eye. Mostly because you leave me no choice,” Merlin answered with cheek.

“Yes, there is more I see! Don’t you know how much I see? Here, give me your arm.” Before long, a pattern of darker blue shapes was being drawn on his arm, highlighted by a pretty light green and dots of silvery white. Merlin had no idea where Mico came up with the patterns, but it looked interesting, like the tattooed marks of some wild tribes.

“My arm shows you all this?” Merlin asked.

“Of course! Here, give me your other arm.”

Merlin lifted his right arm towards Mico and pressed a hand against his chest. “Then show me this arm.”

Mico flashed a determined grin and set to work, using greens and purples on this arm to create large surfaces, flowing into each other in dirty brown overlaps in decorative natural forms and curls of plants and flowers, here and there coming apart to reveal his skin beneath.

Merlin couldn’t help his foolish grin. The paint was cool against his skin and it worked wonders to keep him from feeling entirely too hot inside his body. When Mico got a large blotch of purple paint on his fingers by accident, Merlin outright laughed.

“You should be still, my dear canvas,” Mico teased back. He raised his fingers and smeared the purple paint over Merlin’s lips.

Merlin stilled and held his breath.

“Make sure not to lick it, for it is poisonous if you swallow it. You understand?”

Eyes widening, Merlin nodded in shock and held his mouth firmly closed. His mind flooded with doubts and his cheeks coloured. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Mico held Merlin’s chin between his fingers and tenderly stroked. He looked on gently and offered a small smile. “You will be fine, let me just finish painting you.” His voice was soft and gentle. “It will all wash. I only wanted to warn you. You have this habit…”

Feeling defensive, Merlin turned away from him and made the mistake of showing Mico his yet untouched back.

“Aha! Marvellous!”

Merlin lowered his head, feeling uncomfortable and yet unable to move away. He was trying to make sure he would not swallowed the purple paint on his lips. His previous ease was slowly making place for vigilance.

**

Arthur was intensely disturbed as he watched the happenings in Buonamico’s room. He fought the urge to barge into the guest room and kick Buonamico out. But he had no justifiable reason to go to the man’s chambers to find Merlin at all, not ones that could be justified to his father or any other following inquiries. Besides, if it led to that, Merlin’s nudity and painted skin would need to be reported as well. He refused to expose Merlin to that. Despite his lower rank, Merlin would never let him live that down, he knew that.

So he did not go. And yet, he remained disturbed. Merlin wore poison on his lips and was prevented from moving. On top of that he was completely, blissfully, nude. If anything happened right now, escaping from the room would seem an impossibility. Why would Merlin make himself so utterly vulnerable?

It struck a chord within him so tightly he held his breath. This vulnerability had a weight of freedom and trust to it, which sung through Arthur’s veins and made him yearn for a bond like that. It turned him on more than he could even understand to watch one of the men fully clothed and the other exposed so completely. He hadn’t begun touching himself though. He would not. Not this time, while Merlin might be in peril. Was he, though? Or was it all a game?

He had allowed the excitement to pump thickly through his body until all the muscles in his abdomen were clenched and his prick pulled his trousers tight. He had allowed himself to watch, once more, and absorb all that skin available for him to observe. Even though it was being covered by paint as their erotic game continued, there was plenty of his pale, slender body to watch. Plenty of shy smiles to catch.

And that was the point, Arthur thought. Merlin _was_ vulnerable. Despite the shifts in authority which he had observed in the men’s frivolous lovemaking, he knew that Merlin was the one who could be harmed by this older man, or blackmailed, tricked, even beaten.

For that reason, he allowed himself to watch guilt-free this time. Buonamico was not to be trusted.

And so Arthur’s homework remained untouched on the auditorium desk once more as he watched and watched and watched.

**

Merlin looked at the decorations on both his arms. The remarkable curls and details made him feel powerful, like a warrior on the battlefield. They fit him like armour, and perhaps this was Buonamico’s way of providing him with a blessing. He saw how Mico eyed him up and down appreciatively and something stirred in his gut. “How do I look?” he asked.

“Turn around for me,” Mico purred.

Merlin almost licked his lips, almost, but kept himself in check as he turned his shoulder to Mico and made a show of displaying himself in a slow, sensual spin of his body. Before he could turn back, he felt Mico’s hands steadying his hips and kneading his thighs and his bum.

He hung his head and let out a sigh. He loved being touched like that. Mico’s hands were gentle as they groped. Just for a moment, he let himself imagine they were Arthur’s, and he closed his eyes to try and make it real. A shiver ran up his spine and he whimpered lightly.

“Stay like that.” Mico’s voice was deep and sensual.

Merlin gulped and leaned his hands on Mico’s desk, as he felt Mico position him like one of his precious prepared wooden boards. He had his back to Mico, exposing the largest area of his body with the lightest skin. He tried to make his intentions clear by tilting his hips backwards, offering himself, and he heard Mico chuckle satisfactorily.

“My brushes beg to kiss your skin, Merlin,” Mico said, his voice constricted.

He was glad to be having that effect on the painter and lowered his head further. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“You are all that is art, so of course I am.” He picked up a larger brush and played with several bottles.

Merlin didn’t pay attention to which bottles were uncorked. He simply waited, allowing himself to be worshipped, to be treated as special. He felt giddy with anticipation, and for the first time in his life, totally at home in his own skin.

A thick blotch of cold paint hit the skin on his back, high up near his neck. It made him shiver and let out a sigh. He felt a large circle be drawn, round and round, getting larger. Then the brush trailed over to another side and played over his ribs in the same circular motion. It almost felt like tickling, and Merlin’s toes curled in delight. Without letting up, the brush continued spiralling back out over itself and trailing to the other side of his chest, tickling his ribs there.

Again, the brush spiralled round and round. Merlin imagined what it would look like. Even now, the brush hadn’t lifted, and Merlin felt the nearly dry brush tips scratch uneasily over his skin, back up to his neck… completing the pattern.

Suddenly, Merlin felt as if he had swallowed a stone. The brush connected with the original starting point and he shivered. It was wrong. So wrong. “What did you do?!” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Mico said. “It turned out quite big. It felt right to do. Do you want to see?”

Merlin felt the blood drain away from his face and tried to look over his shoulder at his back. It was impossible, of course. “What is it? What did you do?” He couldn’t hide the panic from his voice. “Get it off!” He could feel his magic respond to the symbol and bubble up inside him fiercely, happy at the sudden recognition.

“Of course!” Mico said and reached out for a cloth which he sank into a basin with water. “Come here.”

A triskele.

Merlin had felt it take shape. He could see the druid symbol with its three spiraling arms in his mind’s eye, without using a mirror. It marked him, as it stretched across his entire back! If he would be seen with this symbol inside the castle, it would be the end of him.

“Take it off,” he said hoarsely, stretching his muscles against the drying paint, as if willing the symbol off his back, away from him. This couldn’t be happening. He willed his magic back down and clenched his fists against the eager force, which lapped at his senses, wanting and needing to be part of him. Ever subdued and tucked away. Merlin wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t. Even the slightest lapse could cause a reaction of something in the room. The candles, the water, even the paints or the brushes might respond. When one of the painted curls on Merlin’s wrist began moving on its own, he huffed at it, restraining it with all his might before Mico might see.

“Slow down, Merlin. I will take it off. Here, let me clean your lips first.” He came up with the towel, but Merlin snatched it from him, wiping the purple smudges off his lips until they felt raw and sensitive. He got rid of the blue stripes on his cheeks as well. Then Mico rinsed the cloth briefly, under Merlin’s glowering gaze, and started scrubbing the drying paint from his back.

As the symbol was being scrubbed away, Merlin felt relief flooding through him. He could keep himself in check. He would master this. Slowly, he began taking deep breaths he didn’t know he needed until he felt that his back was clean. When Mico used another towel to dry him off, Merlin let him, lightheaded yet careful to keep his countenance. He couldn’t have Mico know how much effort this had taken him, and how much command he had just used to keep himself in check. He let Mico, simply because he had to.

What was this trickery? Why had this magic done this to him?

**

Arthur clenched his fists. He was _this_ close to throwing caution into the wind and getting Merlin out of there. He found himself pacing the auditorium and playing the image of the triskele in his mind over and over again. What had Buonamico been trying to accomplish? Why had he drawn the symbol of the enemy on Merlin?

Some druids, Arthur knew, had painted these symbols onto their bodies. They painted it right into their skin. The symbol was supposed to give them strength. If set on a piece of skin that could be seen, the knights of Camelot would chase them down until they were dead. This was the way it had always been. To see the symbol on Merlin was hurtful and confusing. Merlin would _never_ join the druids.

Arthur was surprised at the vehemence of his thoughts. He had never considered it before. But he was convinced. He knew it in his bones. Merlin could be trusted not to join the enemy ranks. Whatever game they were playing, Merlin had clearly been disgusted with what Buonamico had done. It only served to improve Merlin further in his esteem.

Merlin was loyal. More loyal than he had even expected. After all, Merlin had continued to defend his character when there was no need to. He had spoken of Arthur’s mother as an answer to end the wars, a gesture he’d never thought to hear from anyone. He had shown Buonamico that he, the prince of Camelot, would be a worthy king. Thinking about that, Arthur wanted to believe him, he did, but he suddenly felt infinitely small under the weight of history, the invading Saxon army, and the judgment of his father. Added to that was his inability to get Merlin out of that damned room. Somehow, Merlin’s praise had lifted him up when he didn’t know he’d been struggling. What should he do?

He was shaken out of his mulling by the sound of Merlin’s voice on the other side. It sounded urgent, and something in Arthur snapped. He needed to know if Merlin was in trouble, if Buonamico had once again overstepped the trust between them. With a single jump he was back onto the table with his nose almost against the glass to look down into Buonamico’s room.

What he encountered felt like a slap in the face, a rude awakening of misconceptions that shattered brutally in his mind.

Buonamico was kneeling on the bed, naked apart from his white undershirt, his head against the sheets. Merlin stood behind him, his face thunderous and lecherous as he forced his cock in and out of Buonamico at a steady pace.

Arthur clasped a hand in front of his mouth, all thoughts of rescue instantly evaporated. Heat flooded his face something fierce.

What he saw didn’t make _any_ sense.

He was torn between running away and watching Merlin’s fingers gripping the painter’s hips, the writhing man beneath clutching the sheets. The look on Buonamico’s face was one of pure delight. And _Merlin_ was doing that.

Doing…

Taking the lead.

Making Buonamico feel that way.

When he thought he had figured it out, they had surprised him again. Merlin was most certainly the dominant one, his pale hips hitting tanned skin with increasingly fervent slaps. His painted arms tautly holding on and the muscles across his abdomen rippling in the effort, the painted blue stripe across his front enforcing the movements. He no longer resembled a placid canvas to be used and gazed upon, but a superior.

Something wild curled in Arthur’s gut. Merlin was not just an object to gaze at. He had a certain authority and control.

Arthur knew then that the only way to truly remain in control of Merlin was to tame him, to establish his place within the ranks. The same as all the other men in his service. Merlin had a tendency to forget his place after all and needed to be reminded. And Buonamico had just failed, had given him the reins and allowed the switch to happen.

“Ohh, more, more!” Buonamico panted.

Arthur’s ears burned. Why didn’t the man seem upset?

Everything he ever knew about rank and placement was destroyed, a jumble in his mind. He looked away then, because it was just too much. He was unable to look any longer. He turned his gaze away.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. He had to concede that, if this was happening, Merlin was not just a subordinate. He had unconsciously seen Merlin as little more than that. A prize to be won, to be played with, with or without his permission. It was not up to him to refuse, after all. Merlin had offered himself to Buonamico and should have kept in line with that offering.

But Merlin never stayed in line.

Ever.

And he carried his own authority.

A strangled groan made him glance back at the scene below, and he saw Merlin throw his head back, eyes shut, fingers digging into Buonamico’s hips, while the man below him brought himself to completion. It was simple. Blissful. And Arthur didn’t understand it one bit.

**

It was over an hour later, after Arthur’s pitiful attempt at studying the tome in front of him—he wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the face after another evening of not completing his write-ups—when Arthur’s interest to the window was peaked once more. He had turned away after his last observation, too rattled to even think about it.

But think about it he had.

Not that he had solved the problem in his head. And he didn’t think he would. He felt personally attacked, but it wasn’t like he could fight back against it. Even if he tried, he would need to explain himself. So, he sat and dealt with it.

There was one thing, however, which made him climb onto the table next to the wall. It was the flare of a bright light in Buonamico’s room. The same as the night before, when Arthur had seen the revelation about his father. He still wasn’t certain what he could do about that without giving himself away.

As he slowly raised his head to look into the room, he saw Buonamico with a small bowl of paint standing in front of Lady Morgana’s portrait. She looked beautiful, decorated richly in fine jewelry. There were two sigils, one from her mother’s house in the left corner and House Gorlois in the top right, clearly recognisable. Her green dress almost glowed, and her hair was a stark black. The green of her eyes was aptly chosen, and Arthur could almost feel her gaze on him, despite the painting being angled to a different corner of the room.

Buonamico stirred the paint, the same way he had done the night before, and covered the canvas with a thin layer of shining gold material. It took a moment for it to seal, and, as if Morgana’s image took a deep breath, it came to life.

The symbol of House Gorlois, a battle axe on the left with three flowers printed on the right side, faded into a smudge of blues and white, which slowly turned into a dark purple and took a bright red color. The shape transforming, Arthur thought bitterly to himself, to one he knew and recognized beyond all else.

His head spun for the second time that night. This couldn’t be real!

In the top right corner of the portrait, the Pendragon logo was clearly visible. But how? How was she a Pendragon? It didn’t make any sense! Unless Uther…

Morgana’s portrait seemed equally afraid, staring with wide, mistrusting eyes. The green had all but gone in her shock, and instead her eyes looked gold.

It was as if her eyes shone through the room, their light casting shadows behind Buonamico on the wall. Arthur blinked. There _were_ shadows behind Buonamico. The Morgana on the painting covered her face in her hands, as if in shame.

Deep shame.

Arthur fought the tears that welled in the corner of his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not here in Camelot. Not under Uther’s watchful guard. Not while all their careful protections were in place and all the knights and guards were ordered to remain watchful day and night.

Morgana… it couldn’t be true! But it had to be, if last night’s revelation was equally true.

Morgana, his sister. How could he forgive Uther?

Had magic. How could he forgive her?


	7. Revelations

If Arthur thought his night had been the very worst in his life, he wasn’t at all prepared for the day ahead.

He remained quiet while he was being dressed, unable to meet Merlin’s gaze and ignoring his soft enquiries as to whether he was feeling well. He could not look Merlin in the eye, not while everyone he knew and held close had betrayed him in some manner. Even though Merlin had never owed him anything, it still felt like a gross deception on his part, that he had not made himself available. He should have, Arthur thought. Even if he knew the thought was childish, he still felt it.

And now he was dealing with the revelation about Lady Morgana. Despite her detestable attitude, he had loved her as family. But not as family, really. He wondered if Uther even knew. Perhaps this was all a great misunderstanding. Did Morgana know? How could she? She had never, not once, made an attempt to justify her position at court.

He might have been close with her, perhaps, if he hadn’t been preoccupied with battles and with preserving his image. She had made it painfully clear to him how she thought of him early on, and he had made no attempts to bed her. God save him, what if he had?

No, it was impossible that anyone knew about this. But if Buonamico knew… what would he do? Did he understand the implications? The man was a failure at court subtleties. Could he bring upheaval to Camelot with this knowledge? Was telling Uther worth the risk of exposing himself?

What about her eyes? He had never had even the faintest clue that she might have magic. Was that really what he had seen? No, perhaps it was something else. Perhaps he had mistaken the golden glow in her eyes. What if she was in love? Was that it? She was in love and ashamed of it. That had to be it!

“Sire, are you ready to go? The guests have arrived. The unveiling will begin soon.”

Merlin was trying to be gentle with him, as though he was frail, breakable. He clenched his jaw and nodded curtly, resentful of the very assumption. He needed to show what he was made of, and that he would not back down, no matter what he faced. With his sword and scabbard strapped around his ceremonial belt, he walked towards the door in silence.

“Arthur?”

He turned around to look at Merlin, who stared at him with large, uncertain blue eyes. He was holding Arthur’s coronet between his hands and looked so meek and servile that Arthur felt some courage return to him. At least he could expect deference from Merlin. There was that.

“If you please, my lord. I think this suits the occasion.”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur managed to croak, earning him a small smile and a nod.

With cheekbones and dimples, lashes touching his cheek as he looked down.

Arthur was gutted. Utterly slayed by the simple gesture, and something warm bloomed in his chest. Was this what Buonamico experienced, when Merlin was with him?

Before Arthur could speak, reestablish himself, Merlin had lifted his hands and was gently placing the coronet on his head. His hands were close, so close. Arthur looked at the skin on Merlin’s wrist. It was clean, pristine and light, as if it hadn’t been graced by complex patterns the night before. He was wearing his leather bracelet, no doubt aiming to decorate himself. He was feeling _good_ about himself, Arthur realised.

“Yes, well,” Arthur said, straightening himself and brushing his intrusive thoughts aside. This was utterly ridiculous. He had to keep himself in check. It was expected of him after all.

“It’s going to be fine, you know. After today, everything will return to normal.”

Arthur swallowed. If it had only been Merlin’s escapade, Arthur might have believed him. But it wouldn’t be the same. Not after knowing things about his father and about Lady Morgana. “Stop stalling, and let’s go,” Arthur said loudly, as if to push the thoughts from his mind with volume.

Without a second's hesitation, Merlin was out in front of him, holding his chamber door open to let him through. Arthur took a deep breath and marched out, away from their intimacy that had, up to that point, always been a comfort to him.

**

Merlin followed Arthur nervously along the corridors to the throne room. Many guests had already arrived and were still arriving in flocks. The hall was decorated with a podium to one side, where a small group of entertainers were waiting to perform, and tables with food and drink, which looked fine but not exquisite. Guards were stationed at all the doors that led to the room to keep the peace. Several large bouquets of flowers were placed on the tables, but not as many as Merlin might have expected.

Arthur walked straight up to the dais, bowed briefly to Uther, and sat down on the throne at his father’s right side.

Merlin took his usual place at Arthur’s side and observed the guests. Nearly all of the wealthiest and noblest families had been invited, as were the highest ranking guild masters of many trades. They had brought their wives, parents, brothers, and cousins, and some had even brought their children for this historic event. For the elderly, chairs and tables had been set out, but all the other guests were standing in groups and speaking softly with one another.

On the wall, the three paintings hung, covered with red and gold embroidered cloths. Beside them, Merlin saw him. Buonamico was surrounded by several maidens from the town, including Maybelle, and chatting away with them pleasantly. Flirtatiously.

Merlin folded his hands behind his back. He would make no apologies about his change in demeanour last night. He had listened to Buonamico’s offers of remorse, his soft, soothing words, his praise, and had decided that he wanted something of his own.

Last night, Merlin had become a man.

He felt different. Except it wasn’t the sort of different he had hoped. He thought he would know his choices now, that his path might be clearer somehow.

But his involvement with Mico was obviously coming to an end, and he felt utterly powerless to change that fact. Just as powerless as he felt in denying his resurfacing feelings for Arthur.

Today in particular, the prince looked vulnerable. He saw it. It pulled at his heartstrings in broken chords, his feelings as undeniable as they were hopeless. Of course, Arthur would never admit it, but he needed support. His history test was coming soon, and it was obviously hard for him to memorise all that information within such short notice. It weighed on him, Merlin knew.

Morgana entered the room late. She was wearing her beautiful white shimmering dress that hugged her figure. But she wore no jewellery at all. This shocked Merlin, because it was the type of venue which certainly called for wearing jewellery. Instead, she looked harrowed, and her hair was out of place, as if she had been in a hurry to get there. Her appearance didn’t please the king either, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his seat while she took her place. She had been condescending to Arthur on every occasion she could find, but today she didn’t look the part for the unveiling, nor of pushing Arthur a step down in position.

Arthur’s fist lay clenched on the armrest of the throne. Merlin thought he might know the reason for Arthur’s particular troubles today.

Beth.

She had chosen today to wear a beautiful grey dress that contrasted with her blond hair and her eyes beautifully. Instead of serving, she had been invited by Sir Gwaine to attend. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. The other servants paid her little notice.

Whatever was on her mind, Merlin couldn’t fathom. It had been mere _days_ since Arthur had showed her favour. Sir Gwaine’s hand covered hers gently, and she gave him a timid laugh. Just the sort of thing Arthur would have needed to claim for himself. This open display was rude and condescending to Arthur, who had been there first to claim her. At least, that’s how Merlin knew Arthur saw it. He had heard him complain about these things often enough.

Obviously, that was why Arthur had been so upset that morning. And why he was making no effort to mingle today. Merlin brought him a silver chalice with the Pendragon logo embossed on it and filled with the royal wine.

The room was now full of people, and the hour had descended on them. Several guards at the main entrance were nodding to Uther and closing the doors.

“Sire,” Merlin attempted, leaning over beside his ear, “I believe it will be time soon.”

Arthur snatched the chalice and shot him a single annoyed glare.

He’d really been left indoors for far too long, Merlin thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Uther began, standing up from his throne and lifting the chalice in his hand. His voice boomed through the throne room and all the guests ceased their discussions. “Thank you all for attending this historic event.”

He spent the next five minutes highlighting the attendance of several of his very important guests, as custom dictated. Despite his loud, calming voice, Merlin felt a foreboding that he couldn’t describe. He stood by Arthur’s chair, unmovable, and scanned the room for anything that could ruin the day.

The knights were behaving, Maybelle stood next to her father, and Sir Leon hovered near the dais. Gwen was inconspicuous, standing behind Morgana’s chair, equally expectant. Buonamico, well, he was standing next to his paintings with a dignified smile on his face. He knew the company he was in, and he would bask in all the glory.

At last, Uther was done thanking his guests. Merlin dreaded several poetic recitals before the unveiling would finally take place, but instead of reveries, the king lifted a hand and George pulled on a chord.

The red cloths dropped to the ground and there was a gasp in the audience.

Merlin stared in shock.

The portrait of King Uther looked mighty and glorious, seated on his throne. The sigils in the corners were masterfully made, precise enough to rival those of the calligraphers in the historic tomes Geoffrey guarded so delicately. Uther’s clothes bore all the details of his regal outfit, and those who lived in the castle would know it at once. His expression was strict and lordly, as was to be expected. It was splendidly done, and Merlin could find no faults.

Beside it was the painting of Morgana, at Uther’s left side, just like her position on the dais. She wore a green dress and was graced with many rings, earrings and other jewellery. A long necklace stretched down over her embroidered dress, and she had been painted at a slight angle, which was an advantage to her features. The sigils of her old home were beautifully made. Merlin gawked at how perfect it was.

But Arthur’s portrait…

Arthur’s portrait was decorated with the perfect sigils of house Du Bois and Pendragon. His armour was beautifully painted. It looked very real. But his face. His face! A haughty, snotty, conceited glare greeted the audience. His lips were curled into a snarl, and his whole countenance was unpleasant. His nose was too large, his hair too flat and matte. His eyes were narrow and unkind.

Merlin shook his head. This was wrong.

Arthur’s fist was tight around his chalice, his knuckles white. The muscles in his neck moved with rage.

This was all wrong.

The audience glanced cautiously in Arthur’s direction. A murmur was starting.

King Uther looked pale as well, shocked by the revelation. He signaled for the musicians and acrobats to begin their distractions, and a single nod at the servants had them rush to bring food and drinks. Trumpets and drums quickly changed the mood in the audience and muffled the words the guests might speak.

Several noble families turned their backs on the paintings, in obvious respect of Uther and their families. They had seen. They had all seen.

This had to be a joke, Merlin thought. This couldn’t be happening!

Two knights laughed. Merlin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. They might not even be laughing at the painting, but Merlin’s nerves were thoroughly shot.

He wanted to talk to Arthur, to ease his mind. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he must be feeling. Buonamico had made him look almost like a donkey. A joke. Nothing worthy of the prince of the greatest realm the world would ever see.

And yet, in a way, Merlin understood the painting. Arthur hadn’t granted Buonamico a single pleasantry since the man’s arrival. And that’s what he had gotten in return. That’s how Buonamico must see him. It was utterly and completely _wrong_.

Arthur stood up from his throne. Uther’s glare shot daggers, but Arthur didn’t even deign to look at his father.

Merlin followed him, offering his presence at the very least as Arthur walked up to Buonamico.

“Congratulations,” Geoffrey offered Arthur, in his great attempt to act correctly.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Arthur said. His voice was constricted, and Merlin knew the anger that welled in him. It radiated off him in waves. He felt it acutely and felt powerless to comfort him.

Buonamico simply smiled and nodded at one of the guests as they shook his hand and turned away.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. “My lord?”

“This is all fine and well,” Arthur said, loudly enough so that everyone could hear. “I suppose we can all have a good laugh.”

Many faces turned in his direction, curious, cautious. Arthur wore a smile, but Merlin saw the pain.

Uther got up from the throne, and Morgana followed him. Gwen rushed behind them both, fear apparent in her wide eyes, which mirrored Merlin’s sentiments exactly.

“Well obviously,” Arthur said and gestured a polite hand at Buonamico, “he hasn’t started with the real painting yet.”

Merlin glared at Buonamico, at his unforgivable act. But then again, perhaps this had been the only expression Buonamico had been able to capture. Still, it wasn’t right! This was not what Arthur looked like. He was beautiful beyond anything. And he deserved to be captured as he was. Someone like Mico ought to know that!

“Arthur, what is this folly?” King Uther interjected.

Arthur looked at his father defiantly and pressed his lips together.

Merlin could kiss him for showing this much restraint, for holding back in this utterly impossible situation.

“Clearly, father, our friend Buonamico did not have time to complete my portrait. This is a great joke on your part is it? I think it has turned out marvellously.” Though Arthur’s tone was filled with poisonous aggression, his words made sense.

Uther was clearly conflicted. The painting did not resemble his son. And therefore his greatest wish was denied. And yet he wasn’t speaking up on Arthur’s behalf. Merlin and the other guests held their breaths collectively.

“You will thank Buonamico for his great efforts,” Uther said at last.

“Father, this is—”

“Not one word,” Uther warned him.

Many wide eyes shot between the two of them.

To Merlin’s surprise, Buonamico watched unfazed. He looked merely curious. He couldn’t comprehend it. Why was Buonamico so calm?

Then the most unexpected thing happened.

Morgana stepped forward and stood beside Arthur, holding out her arm for Arthur to take in a way that could not be refused. The prince, who was still seething, took a moment to collect his thoughts and held out his arm to her as well.

Morgana stared with a defiant, hard stare at Uther and jutted her chin while she said, “Come, Arthur, we should take a walk.”

“Morgana,” Uther warned.

“The guests can entertain themselves for a while,” she shot back.

Merlin exchanged a glance with Gwen, and they both followed, ignoring the curious glances in their direction. This was unprecedented.

But then, so was the horrible, horrible painting.

**

Arthur slammed his coronet on his desk next to the pile of books. It was evening, and he was _done!_ He had withstood his father’s complacency with this farce, Morgana’s unhappy walk outside, and the sorry looks of the guests as they left one by one.

Now, in his chambers, he could let the disappointment take hold. He had considered himself handsome, quite a catch, in fact. He had thought that was why he had received all these attentions. Not just because he was the prince. And Buonamico, who had spoken of beauty, who had picked Merlin out and opened Arthur’s eyes, had destroyed him.

The only thing he hated more than that painting was to admit to himself that he valued Buonamico’s opinion on his characteristics. One thing was clear: he would not sit by and let this become the portrait that would bring him fame. He would demand a new one, no matter the cost. And he would confront his father on why it hadn’t already been done.

Perhaps that was unwise. It might lead him to accidentally spill information he knew about Buonamico. That would be far too dangerous. Even worse, it would keep Buonamico around for longer. He definitely didn’t want that.

But his pride was wounded and required mending. The new painting, he thought gloomily, had to be made.

“Did you know about this?” he asked Merlin, accusation thick in his voice.

“No!” Merlin said hastily. “I don’t think anyone saw the canvases until today. If I did, I would have reported it.”

 _But you were in his room!_ Arthur wanted to shout. “I refuse to accept this work!”

“It does not resemble you at all,” Merlin said in a whisper, picking up the coronet carefully to place it back into its box. He was careful not to look up.

Arthur followed him with his eyes. He _had_ to confront Merlin, to demand the truth. “You think he did this on purpose?”

Merlin placed the lid onto the box and held it up in front of him in an unconscious defensive pose. “You’ve only been hostile to him from the start. That is what he captured.” He frowned, clearly conflicted. “But yes,” he added, “he couldn’t possibly be so precise with the other two paintings and claim your likeness with the third.”

“That’s what I said!” Arthur agreed vehemently.

Merlin nodded quietly and placed the box into a drawer. “I don’t know why he would do that. He’s not like that.”

Arthur balled his fists. He had to bite his lip not to accuse Merlin of anything. _You like him, you really do_. He wanted to scream. How could he leave Merlin in the hands of such an undeserving man?

“Sire?”

His anger threatened to spill over the edges. “Morgana was upset today, did you notice?”

Merlin nodded. “She looked worried. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her like that.”

“She wasn’t worried. She was telling us something is wrong! Merlin, I haven’t known Morgana to show up at a feast without her jewellery or her hair done once. Not _once_.”

Frowning, Merlin met Arthur’s gaze directly.

Arthur broke away at once. It was impossible to look him directly in the eyes now. He paced the room. It was too intense, after everything he had seen, after all the gazes he had needed to meet today. He couldn’t.

“Has she said anything?” Merlin asked.

Arthur sighed and continued pacing.  

“During your walk outside?”

“Only one thing. She confided something to me.” He closed his eyes. He could tell Merlin, couldn’t he? Merlin knew court secrets and they never traveled. “She has a lover. She’s had a lover for quite a while.” He had asked her, and she had admitted her affair with Sir Leon to him. At least he had this one thing to hold onto. Her shame was her secret love. There was nothing else to find there, apart from her heritage. He savoured the curious smile she had given him when he had sighed in relief. She probably expected him to make an issue about rank, but instead he’d been delighted. “Other than that, she was silent.”

Merlin followed Arthur’s pacing through the room with his eyes. “And?”

“And that’s not normal, Merlin!” He threw his hands into the air. “She’s always got something to say! Her silence is enough proof to me that something is completely wrong! And it all has to do with that Buonamico!”

A flinch. Briefly, but there it was.

Arthur grit his teeth. “Is there _anything_ else you know?”

Merlin’s lips parted, and he sucked in a silent breath.

Arthur waited, stopping his pacing and observing Merlin’s countenance shifting. He held his breath.

Eventually, Merlin spoke. “I don’t know. I… I visited him. He seems normal. Funny. I thought that was because he’s from abroad.”

His heart thudded thickly against his ribs as he listened to Merlin’s confession. For all that it withheld, that’s what it was. And Arthur needed someone on his side, badly. He even considered coming clean, but he expected that wouldn’t work out the way he intended. But he needed _something_. If he could get Morgana’s confession, he could get his, and have Merlin on his side.

“You like him, don’t you?” The words were out. And he instantly wished he could take them back.

Merlin, for his part, tried to remain neutral, shrugging and picking something else to clean, rolling up Arthur’s belts in this case. “He was friendly to the members at court.” He said it so lightly, Arthur’s comment rolling off him like water off a duck’s back.

“Don’t play me,” Arthur said, studying Merlin’s reactions. “Do you think I don’t know about these things? You like him more than that.”

This got Merlin’s attention. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at Arthur as if he didn’t understand what was going on. “That’s ridiculous, what you’re insinuating!”

Oh, he _was_ good at this, Arthur thought to himself. “You think I’m utterly oblivious, don’t you? That I wouldn’t know it, even if it concerned our very own knights or servants?” He put his hands in his side and puffed out his chest to avoid showing how blatantly he was lying about this.

This time Merlin’s eyes widened, even if only for a moment. “You’ve lost me completely, I’m afraid,” he said in the lightest voice possible.

Arthur growled. “I sent you to find me information. You visit him and return to me with those marks on your neck! You stare at him every chance you get. You think I wouldn’t figure it out?” It was the simplest version he had to offer, to retain Merlin’s dignity. Or, well, if he was honest, his own.

“What?” This time Merlin paled, his hand absentmindedly lifting to touch the scarf around his neck, right over the marks.

Arthur shook his head and racked his brain, knitting the information he had together in his mind. There was only one thing he knew for certain. “I need you to listen to me, Merlin. Buonamico is doing something to Lady Morgana and to my father. I don’t trust him. Stay away from him!”

He had Merlin’s attention, shaken and wide-eyed, until the last phrase. Then he scoffed at him and turned away.

“I’m serious,” Arthur demanded. Merlin still wasn’t admitting to anything, but his body language gave it all away.

“Did he say anything?” Merlin asked with his back turned, pretending to fold some clothes and doing a poor job at it too.

“Buonamico?” Arthur asked, the name filthy on his lips.

Merlin turned around again. “Your father,” he clarified. “Has he said anything?”

“No,” Arthur said. “But it’s what he didn’t say that caught my attention. We all know that he intended this event because he cannot look at Ygraine any longer. He’s put forward a great expense to have us portrayed. You _know_ he doesn’t agree with the painting as it is. So why did he publicly humiliate me and let Buonamico get away with it?”

Merlin mumbled something dangerously close to heresy.

Arthur stepped closer to him, needing him to understand. “Whatever it is, Merlin. I don’t want him to do it to you.”

For one glorious moment their eyes met, Merlin’s vulnerable and sad, Arthur’s determined and intense. Arthur didn’t understand it. He wanted to reach out and _hold_ him, to keep him safe from whatever Buonamico was doing.

But he knew what would happen. Merlin would go straight to Buonamico anyway.

“I mean it,” Arthur enforced.

“I can’t…” Merlin said. “I can’t simply not visit. If the king and Lady Morgana are in danger…”  

Running a hand through his hair, Arthur tried coming up with more ammunition. “Just make some excuses! You don’t owe him your presence!”

Merlin pressed his lips together and shot daggers at Arthur. “That might be easy for you to say. He’s been nothing but kind to me. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that,” Arthur breathed angrily.

“I believe it, my lord. I have to, don’t you see? Haven’t you ever loved anyone?”

“Uh, no!” Arthur denied indignantly. He hadn’t missed the sarcastic ‘my lord’, and he didn’t like the implications of what he’d just said.

Merlin’s anger slowly transformed into dejection.

Arthur shook his head and took a step closer. “You’re putting yourself at risk, Merlin.”

A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “I’d be doing something useful for once,” he joked.

Merlin wasn’t hearing him. Arthur panicked. There would be ways to stop him going yet. “I think he might be using magic to threaten them. I don’t want you to fall into a trap. Don’t go.” He might have had more than one reason to say that, but he didn’t possess the words for it yet.

Merlin swallowed. “It would be noticed…”

Arthur stepped away and escaped their vicinity by retreating to the window. He had to get his thoughts in order. This wasn’t about the history test anymore. It was about the kingdom’s stability. Buonamico was doing _something_ with the information he’d obtained, and Merlin was too stubborn to listen to him.

Before he could say another word, he saw Merlin stomp out of the room and shut the door behind him loudly.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” he shouted.

But that wasn’t what he felt at all. If Merlin was in danger, he’d have to do _something_. Before Buonamico could make his next move.

**

It felt surprisingly normal to meet Mico, even after the upsetting day Merlin had had. Within the four walls of his chambers he was not some conniving stirrer. He was pleasant as always, offering a cup of wine and passing him a list with materials.

Apparently, Merlin needed to collect more pigment, chalk, and fresh eggs. Would he be doing the new portrait after all then? He was afraid to ask.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Mico offered kindly. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“I want another story,” Merlin said, looking straight at Mico without taking the offered seat.

Mico chuckled and took his own seat, giving Merlin a cheeky look. “What will it be about today?”

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat. Arthur’s words rang in his mind and made it hard to form full phrases. _What did you do to Uther? If you have harmed Lady Morgana…! Is it true that you have magic? Did you enchant me last night with your paints? What do you know about me? Has everything you said to me been a lie? What is real?_

“Tell me about your scars.” He hoped it would be the beginning of some truths from Mico’s lips.

The smile on Buonamico’s face faded faster than snow on a hot day. “Sorry?”  

“On your back,” Merlin added. “After all my posing, you won’t deny me this, will you?” He felt nervous, turning Mico’s game back on him.

After a few moments, Buonamico crossed his legs loosely, a bare foot leaning on his other knee. “My brother-in-law,” he said, his voice no longer amused. “The memory brings me pain.”

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn’t like the sad expression in Mico’s eyes. He wasn’t cruel. But then, he couldn’t think only about himself. This was about Camelot and about Arthur. “Do you think about it a lot?”

“Every day,” he said softly. “I prefer not to.”

“So, I’m distraction?” Merlin asked.

Mico put his drink aside and got up, walking over to Merlin and lifting his chin. “No, Merlin. You are not distraction. But you did distract me. I won’t deny it.”

“You put a great weight on the truth then?” Merlin asked, the twist in his gut because he was happy with the attention, but wary of his intentions.

“You know I do,” Mico said softly.

Their lips were close. “Then tell me the truth. Why did you corrupt Prince Arthur’s painting?”

Mico paused, his hand still on the side of Merlin’s face. His brown eyes gazing curiously at Merlin’s.

But before he spoke the alarm bells rang, first in one tower and soon joined by the others.

Merlin pulled his head back, turned around and ran towards the sounds of guards gathering and yelling. Buonamico followed closely behind him, his bare feet slapping against the castle tiles.

Something was up, and it wasn’t Mico.

**

Arthur marched through the library, all the way to the back. He had Geoffrey’s keys in hand, reluctantly offered up by the man to further Arthur’s search for knowledge. Tomorrow was the day of the history test, after all. And Geoffrey had no reason to deny him the set of keys.

He found the right key that unlocked the small door at the back, which hadn’t been opened in years, and used it to quickly enter the halls to the guest chambers unseen.

By now, the guards would be gathering in the throne room to find Arthur’s painting destroyed with a dinner knife. A simple knife from Camelot’s kitchens, conveniently still stuck in the wood panel. It was the only way he knew how to do what he needed to.

He had rung the alarm bells soon after that and informed one of the guards to find Sir Leon and gather everyone to the throne room. This was, after all, an act of treason against the Prince of Camelot.

He couldn’t possibly commit treason against himself. And so Arthur had left and was now at Buonamico’s door. It was ajar, and the candles inside were still lit. He opened the door roughly, to startle the painter if he was still there.

The room was completely quiet. Arthur made haste with his intentions. He dug into Buonamico’s travel chest and found the ivory-topped box. He picked up a wooden spoon, as he had seen Buonamico do, from his work desk and pocketed it.

Now he wouldn’t be able to perform these tricks anymore. Arthur would show his father and all would be well again.

As he left, his eye fell on a pile of loose papers on the corner of the desk.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took those too and left, rushing to his chambers while the rest of the guards and the knights would still be in the throne room, trying to uncover the mystery. Arthur ran until he was safely inside his room, locked the door and let out a deep breath.

Camelot would be safe now.

**

Ten minutes later, Arthur was sitting at his desk with his head resting on his hand, staring at the pile of sketches of Merlin that Buonamico had drawn over the course of the past week. A single candle lit the darkening room, and the piles of books around him made him feel adequately sheltered. A flutter went through him at the acknowledgment that he could finally see the drawings up close.

They were beautifully made, wild strokes with precise results, and they captured Merlin’s looks in a way that Arthur knew him well yet and had never observed him before. All cheekbones, lips, wild hair, and sparks in his eyes.

The first one on top of the pile was a portrait with a ponderous, worried look. Arthur knew that expression well, especially when Merlin wasn’t saying something he wanted to. The second one revealed a cheeky smile, the exact one that Arthur had been certain Merlin saved only for him. What a foolish thought, taken for granted. He swallowed thickly.

The next page was a collection of quick sketches showing several other expressions, each of them so typical. Arthur stared at them for a while. They highlighted the muscles in his neck in particular, the curve of his lips, as well as the slant of his eyebrows. He must be out of his mind to be regarding these with such reverence, but he had to admit that Buonamico was an absolute master at his trade. It was almost harder for him to admit than to allow himself to think that he might want to see Merlin like that, happy, unreserved, carefree, drunk… Just not while he was working, he corrected himself.

He cleared his throat and turned to the last one, though he had expected there to be more sketches. He forgot to breathe and stared. It was the full body pose, for which Merlin had stood, with his hand on the candelabra and the laurel crown in his hair. His eyes were painted with the startling ultramarine blue, and he wore a look of determination.

The look of his pride for saving Arthur.

It was too real and Arthur sucked in a breath, his chest suddenly constricted.

He couldn’t let Buonamico keep these. He had no _right_ to them. Just as he had no right to Merlin. Not as far as Arthur was concerned, anyway.

Merlin clearly thought differently. Just as Arthur had expected, he had gone straight for the painter’s room when he’d left. There was nothing else Arthur could do. If Merlin would be stubborn about this, so would he.

The ivory-topped box sat on the desk beside the stack of drawings, and Arthur looked between the box and the drawings.

He shouldn’t look. He had no right to. Not after all that Buonamico had done. Or might have done. But Merlin’s challenging look dared him to.

“No! Don’t degrade yourself,” he told himself and got up from the desk to stroll around the room.

This was magic. He couldn’t possibly dabble in it. It was the worst offense. Treason! He had to focus on his upcoming history test. He needed to put a little bit of effort into his studies at least.

He ended up at the window and stared out over the courtyard. A group of guards was just exiting the castle to meet up with their fellow mates and continue their rounds after the earlier bell tolls had taken them out of their shifts.

That meant that someone must be coming for Arthur to tell him their initial conclusions about the paintings soon.

He glanced over at his desk and fidgeted with the ring on his finger. What might he find out? He would learn perhaps whether Merlin truly loved Buonamico, and what would happen if Buonamico was sentenced to death.

Morgana had hidden her affair for similar reasons. Arthur had been surprised that she had actually told him what she had been so ashamed about. She hadn’t even asked for him to keep it secret, possibly knowing that he would. Arthur frowned. No, Lady Morgana was not that charitable, nor was Sir Leon that infallible. While Sir Leon was invaluable to the knights of Camelot, his challenge of Arthur’s status had gone one step too far with this. He would have to bring him down a notch for this blatant attack.

As Morgana had admitted her affair to him so freely, it made him curious. She would defend his character with everything she had. Would Merlin allow himself to say the same thing about a man if Arthur would indeed arrest Buonamico? Arthur doubted it. Still, he felt edgy. He watched the guards dispersing across the courtyard, and his nerves sunk.

It was now or never.

No, this was stupid! Nothing would drive him to abuse his power like that! It was positively immoral.

**

The ivory lid was heavier than he thought, and Arthur held his breath as the shining gold powder revealed itself below. It was even more mesmerising up close.

His thoughts of morality had fled with the time pressure. There would never be another moment to do this, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been staring at Buonamico’s room for a week already. How much more morality was there for him to lose?

Foolishly, he took up a silver spoon that lay on his desk. The moment it touched the gold powder, whatever glow it had disappeared and turned it to ash with a fizzle and a puff of smoke.

“Damn it!”

There wasn’t time for this! He imagined a knock on his door any moment now and felt his heart thudding in his chest.

“Come on, you’ve seen him do this,” he told himself. Digging into his pocket with trembling fingers, he took out the wooden spoon and held it out to lightly move over the powder. It remained just as radiant as before. It was so very beautiful.

With the utmost care, he scooped up a small amount, careful to keep his hand steady.

He could still turn back, he knew. Let everything fade away. Have Buonamico arrested and face Merlin’s misery.

He shifted in his chair and held out the drawing of the full body pose. The powder wasn’t even diluted or mixed with any of Buonamico’s paint supplies, so the chances of this working were slim to begin with.

Arthur clenched his jaw and sprinkled the powder over the drawing. It rolled down over the surface.

Slowly, grain for grain, the powder embedded itself into the drawing. Even though the paper had been held at an angle over the box, none of the grains fell back into it.

Sucking in a breath, Arthur waited to see what would happen.

Gradually, the Merlin figure on the paper began to move. Arthur’s eyes widened. It had worked!

The candelabra had changed into a long spear. In the other hand Merlin held a studded heater-shaped shield. The sigil on the shield showed twisting shapes, uncertain yet how to form. Merlin was still naked, and his eyes, instead of blue, were glowing a bright gold. It couldn’t be mistaken for a lighter shade. And it was much more powerful in brightness than Morgana’s had been. It allowed for no excuses as to exactly what it was. The golden glow radiated off his skin as well. Above him, the smudges cleared to reveal a radiating light shining down on him from amidst the clouded skies above.

Arthur stared without blinking as the Merlin on the paper broke into a run, scattering square leaves around him, fearless determination clear on his face. A vague shape of a round window appeared above Merlin, the glass panes revealing the inlay of a flower in its center. Merlin battled against something unseen, something off the side of the page. His heart began to bleed a bright red.

“No!” Arthur said. That hadn’t been part of the deal. Merlin wasn’t a warrior! Arthur was trying to _protect_ him!

It began to dawn on Arthur that Buonamico wasn’t even part of the events transpiring on paper.

A blast of gold covered the page and the enemies lay defeated. None of the enemies resembled Buonamico either. Some were soldiers, others were monsters. The gold fizzled out and only remained as a strong glow in Merlin’s eyes.

Magic! How was that even possible?

The drawn Merlin crouched down and broke into a sprint past a broken stone wall. He left what place this had been and was outside, passing trees and banners. War banners.

The paper trembled in Arthur’s hand. The drawn Merlin took a leap and jumped off a ledge, fierce and unhindered by his nakedness. He landed in front of a wounded figure, holding up his shield in protection.

Arthur covered his hand over his mouth.

The wounded figure, bleeding beneath the ledge was himself. It was a drawn Arthur in full plate armour, without exaggerated features. He looked heavy and tired from battle, some unseen wound incapacitating him. The heater shield had seven symbols on them, six of them representing the kingdoms of Albion. The seventh was an unmistakable triskele.

The drawn Merlin stood in front of sketched Arthur, his back turned to the prince and his eyes spying the horizon. Combined, the shield and spear in hands, the golden glow of his eyes and bodily aura created an unbreakable barrier. The same proud look was on his face, only fiercer. And the bleeding, red shape over his heart wasn’t blood.

It had never been blood.

It was Pendragon.

Without even being remotely prepared for it, Arthur began to cry.


	8. Played

Merlin left the throne room and ran to Arthur’s chambers. Everyone had been gathered before Uther’s throne. The canvas lay in pieces on the floor, the prince’s painting irreparable and unrecognisable. Uther had been absolutely furious at this act of vandalism. He had called people to him in groups to explain their whereabouts and from how they might have obtained the knife to do the damages. There had been no obvious culprit.

Buonamico had been remarkably quiet and curious, perhaps even relieved. He looked at the pieces of his painting, but he didn’t touch them. He also, very carefully, didn’t look at Merlin the entire time. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to ignore a servant, but Merlin had wanted some recognition from the man, _anything_ , in these dubious times. It stung.

On top of that, new reports had _just_ arrived about the Saxons. A messenger had run into the hall to deliver the news without any delay. That meant Buonamico had heard it too. Merlin wished that the terrible news had been delivered privately. Uther was clearly displeased.

For some reason, Arthur hadn’t attended the throne room, despite the warning bells, and Merlin was suddenly, inexplicably worried. He had run until he was out of breath, passing Beth and Gwen in the corridors, who paused talking right as he walked by. At last, he came to a halt and fell against the locked chamber doors.

“Arthur?! Arthur!” Why were they locked?

He listened for any signs of a struggle from within. In his panic his magic came to him, called out of the depths within himself to bubble at the surface and stretched out to feel what might be happening inside the room. It was quiet except for the sound of a drawer being shut. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But was there a hint of magic there? He closed his eyes and tried to sense for more, but couldn’t sense anything in particular, as if it had just disappeared.

He took a deep breath. “Arthur, open up!” To his surprise, that was exactly when the door opened. Arthur looked out at him angrily and let him in. Merlin stuttered at the intensity of his gaze. “There’s—the throne room—”

Arthur shut the door behind him. There was a tension along his shoulders and a stiffness to his pose. “Merlin, you are loyal, aren’t you?”

Without a second’s hesitation, Merlin answered him. “Of course! And I didn’t do it!”

There was a strange, dark look in the prince’s eyes. “Yes, you did!”

Furious, Merlin balled his fists. “I would _never_ do anything like that!”

Arthur stroked his sleeves up and pointed at the door. “You went straight to him after I told you not to!”

That had Merlin stumped. He hated the fact that Arthur knew about him and Mico. Never in a hundred years had he expected Arthur to put the pieces together that easily. Even if he had, he’d expected to be yelled at, to feel shame, and to be humiliated. He’d expected bullying and sass at his expense.

Instead, Arthur was angry because of his own convictions against the man. But Buonamico hadn’t done it either, he was certain of that at least. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Do you think this is funny?” Arthur bellowed.

Merlin huffed angrily, trying to ignore how intense Arthur looked in his ceremonial garb, with his hair all mussed. “Did you miss the warning bells? Do you really not know?”

This made Arthur pause and straighten himself. “Know what?”

“Your portrait’s been destroyed! And the Saxon King is on the move, headed straight for Camelot.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm as though not having been told yet had been a great offense. “Beroun? Since when?”

“The first messengers were killed apparently. The news has just arrived from the patrols Uther sent out. But there’s a problem.” He hissed at Arthur’s fingers digging into his arm, and continued his report. “The messenger brings us two reports. Beroun was sighted taking the Eastern road, as well as the Western road. Both with great armies at his heels.”

“He can’t be in two places at once,” Arthur said angrily, taking a step closer.

“Exactly. One of the reports must be wrong.” He looked at the state Arthur was in. He was shocked to see, from this close, that Arthur looked unwell. His eyes were red and his lashes crumpled. Had he been crying? His breath caught and his brows knotted. He parted his lips to ask him, but the words got stuck in his throat.

When Arthur noticed his concern, he let go of Merlin’s arm and turned away. “I need to go out and meet this Saxon King. He poses far too big a threat now.”

“You can’t,” Merlin said. He racked his brain to try and figure out what Arthur had been so upset over. Was it his history test coming up the next day? Was it really because he had seen Mico? “They say that reports of his magical powers are true. Uther is sending out two small scout groups to discover his whereabouts.”

“Scouts indeed. Who will defend this kingdom if I don’t?” He turned around and glowered straight at him. “You?”

Merlin swallowed and made himself small. He gave the only answer he could. “I’ll stand behind you, my lord, _always_.” The truth was a painful conviction that he would never shake. “But we don’t know anything about Beroun. We don’t even know where he is!”

“So, it’s to be a siege then, is it?” Arthur asked and rubbed his face. “I won’t stand for Saxons invading our lands on this scale! Taking out one side is better than nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

Merlin bit his lip and looked straight at him, at the way his hair fell back down, at the run of the muscles along his bared forearms. Only then did he think about what Arthur had said.

Arthur had the right of it. The Saxons were already in Camelot territory. If Uther didn’t know where to focus his efforts, everyone within the castle walls was gravely at risk if it should come to a siege. And there was no way that Arthur would stay inside if it came to that. Merlin knew that already. Arthur was no coward. That was why Merlin loved him. The feeling burned in his chest, powerful, unapologetic, and utterly destitute. “Do you want to meet with your father?”

“No. I know what he will say.”

“You can’t go against him. Not now. He’s distraught about the painting. You _know_ how much this means to him.” Arthur was being particularly obstinate today, and Merlin wasn’t having it.

“Do they have any leads?” Arthur asked off-hand.

Merlin shook his head. They had interrogated part of the staff and would continue their investigations in the morning. Merlin hadn’t dared to faithfully establish his whereabouts until Mico had said that Merlin had visited to collect the list of necessary ingredients. When Merlin had fished the list out of his pocket, that had been that. “It wasn’t Buonamico, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said at last. He might defend the man’s character in that at least.

Arthur stepped up right in front of him in a clear attempt to glare him down again.

Merlin didn’t move, but didn’t challenge him either. He would not let his gaze waver. Perhaps Buonamico had indeed exaggerated Arthur’s portrait on purpose, but if Arthur hadn’t been so obnoxious, it might never have happened in the first place.

“You don’t belong with him,” Arthur said. His nose was almost in Merlin’s face. His whole countenance domineering and displeased.

Merlin stared in awe, suddenly breathless. Arthur was so beautiful it pained him. But his reveries quickly changed to anger and panic. He was already denied so many things. He wouldn’t stand for it, not this time.

He balled his fists and looked up at Arthur. “You’re always staking your claim and would refuse me the one chance I get?” His cheeks burned as he said it. How could he be uttering these words, challenging Arthur? As much as he’d been Buonamico’s conquest, Mico was also his. If there would ever be a time to stand up for it, this was it. To stake his claim, not as a servant but as a man, and be recognized for that.

Arthur observed him, making Merlin feel awkward and absurdly thrilled. Their vicinity was absolutely electrifying, dangerous. After a moment, Arthur said, “He will leave.”

“So do yours.” Merlin spoke boldly. He couldn’t be saying these things. His rank as manservant forbade it! He was grossly overstepping the line and he knew it. Suddenly, it all made sense. “Oh god, it’s Beth!”

At this, Arthur frowned in genuine surprise. “What about her?”

“Didn’t you see her attend the unveiling with Sir Gwaine?” Everything was crystal clear to him. “Did you know she waited outside your door every evening for you to finish studying? But you were never there?”

“What?” Arthur asked, as if nothing Merlin said made sense. He looked unfocused, as though he stared right through Merlin, working the pieces together. “I studied at the library,” he said cautiously.

Merlin took a step back, dizzy from their closeness. He could even smell Arthur and his yearning overwhelmed him. His voice came to him light and stuttering. “S-she must have ruined your painting! I need to tell the king.”

He spun on his heel and ran, leaving Arthur behind, to tell the news at once.

**

When Arthur entered the council chambers the next morning, he was shocked to find Buonamico standing next to his father at the far end of the room. Several other knights were in attendance, but Sir Leon was surprisingly absent. Buonamico had no place in the private council, and his presence irked him more than usual. He cautioned himself against revealing his dislike, but knew it would be impossible at this early hour to keep himself fully in check.

It was cool. Rains had moved in and brought relief. Except Arthur’s soul was denied any benefit, with the events lying heavy on his heart. Merlin had tried to hurry him up that morning, but Arthur had slept poorly after his discoveries and awoken with a foul mood.

Today was his history test, and he didn’t feel ready by a long shot. It was another failure he could not suffer.

He also still wasn’t over the drawing showing that Merlin had magic _and_ that his loyalty was true. It didn’t make any sense to him. Why would a sorcerer carry Pendragon in his heart? And what did that mean for Morgana? He didn’t even want to think about that yet.

Merlin, for his part, hadn’t spoken more than five words with him. It wasn’t anger, though, of that he was certain. Perhaps a quiet resignation that Arthur was, in fact, right. Merlin knew that he was. Arthur was convinced of it.

Arthur pointed rudely at Buonamico. “Father. What is he doing here?”

Where he expected his father to bark at him, Uther merely turned around to face him and smiled. “Arthur, so good of you to join us at this early hour.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who looked just as puzzled as he was. Did his father just smile at him? Besides, he wasn’t early at all. Nothing about this seemed normal to him. What had Buonamico done? It settled Arthur’s suspicions into something real, something dangerous.

Whatever it was, Uther clearly could not summon the guards to do anything against it nor tell Arthur directly. It must be severe. His father’s life might be in danger and so might Lady Morgana’s by extension. Was that why Sir Leon wasn’t here? Had he been sent to guard her? Not by Uther surely. He could never know about the affair! Or Sir Leon wouldn’t even see the inside of a cell. There was no other option than to play along right now.

“Yes, father. I came at the earliest convenience. You’ve got some news for me, I hope?”

Merlin coughed lightly and moved to the side table to prepare Arthur’s food and drink. At the council table the knights looked on oddly. Sir Caradoc, Sir Geraint, a sour-looking Sir Gwaine, and several others were clearly uncomfortable, but kept their silence. Geoffrey, too, sat at the table, seemingly entirely oblivious to the odd exchange taking place or perhaps keeping his countenance better than the others.

“Yes. It seems as though there are two Saxon armies coming our way,” Uther said. “We presume they mean to attack the citadel. We do not know which group their leader, King Beroun, has joined.” He said it matter-of-factly, his hate for the Saxons barely present on his lips.

“Then would it not be wise to meet one or both of the groups?” Arthur said. “I could go myself and decimate one of their armies.”

“Their king has magic, Arthur. I will not let you ride out without knowing what he is capable of.”

This was useless, Arthur thought. He didn’t have the patience for this farce. But he tried to do what his father would expect of him, at least. “A warlock in battle may yet be overrun by our warriors, father. You have taught us this yourself!”

“I need you here, Arthur,” Uther said.

There might be truth to his words in this case, Arthur thought. “So I’ve heard. My portrait has been destroyed.”

“It is a sad affair!” Buonamico exclaimed.

Arthur slowly turned to the painter, burning holes through him with his gaze. “It is that,” he said foully.

Merlin nudged his elbow and offered him a chalice with some ale. That was good. He would need a drink in his gut in order to operate. He didn’t miss the upset glance Merlin shot him either, and it ignited something in his chest, bubbling up through his belly and stabbing sharply through his heart.

“Rest assured, Arthur. We have arrested the culprit,” Uther said calmly.

“What?” Arthur asked, perhaps too quickly.

Uther nodded and sat down at the head of the table. “We have taken a servant girl, Beth, into custody. She has denied the charge, of course.”

This was wrong, very wrong. If Merlin had alerted the guards to her activity, she would be punished for something she did not do. But he also couldn’t take the blame in front of all these people. Had Merlin told Uther that Beth had visited him at night?

“Father, we can’t stand to have our servants behave this way, but in light of the portrait’s quality—”

“My boy, I would like you to take a seat.”

 _Boy?_ Arthur bristled. Uther never called him boy! Even Merlin looked disturbed. With a sudden shock, he understood. This was a cry for help if he had ever seen one.

“I don’t want to pose again, father!” Arthur said, knowing full well it was petulant, a signal back to his father.

“You shall do as I command you!” Uther said, raising his voice.

“We have an enemy at our doorstep. You can’t make me! I’ll walk out of here, even if you try to stop me!” He knew it was utterly ridiculous. But he had to do this.

Sir Caradoc coughed and let his distaste of the affair be known. Sir Gwaine simply kept his glower, a look Arthur had rarely received from the man.

“Stop behaving like a child, Arthur!”

“No, Father. You start acting like a king!”

He heard gasps. He didn’t look at the people seated at the table beside him, merely at his father. The king was red in the face, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. Arthur hoped he had made the right choice.

Slowly, Uther got up from his chair. The gesture was one of pure contained anger. Everyone in the room looked uncomfortable, even Geoffrey. Merlin looked as if Arthur had lost his marbles entirely.

“Leave us,” Uther said. The words were spoken softly, but the quick scraping of chairs and shuffle of feet told Arthur that they had all understood him perfectly.

“Sire, would you—”

“You too, friend,” Uther said to Buonamico. “I need to speak with my son.”

Arthur turned his head to Merlin. “You, stay and serve me,” he said, holding out his chalice. He glanced to Merlin, who seemed rattled that he was being asked to stay.

“Everyone else is to leave,” Uther remarked sternly.

Still holding out his chalice, Arthur waited for Buonamico to leave the room and the door to close. He waited until Merlin had refilled the drink and regarded his father sternly. “Merlin can prevent eavesdroppers,” Arthur said casually into his cup. It was a good way to keep him separated from Buonamico and to force him to accept the truth. “Go stand at the door.”

Uther watched Merlin put down his pitcher and hop to the door in several long strides. He checked for shadows under the door and listened against the wood. He turned back to Arthur and nodded.

“Sire, I sent Merlin to spy on Buonamico days ago. Something is up.”

“Lower your voice,” Uther said. He shot Merlin a dark look. “You! Did you tell him anything about Camelot?”

“No, sire!” Merlin said.

“Have you shared any state secrets, any of our council information?” Uther was looking at him as if he was worth less than an ant.

“I would _never_ ,” Merlin balked.

“I believe him, father,” Arthur added, making certain to sound sure of himself. Merlin had not given anything of value away to Buonamico. He knew it for a fact, though he could not admit it.

Uther wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t engage with Merlin again. He rested his hands on the armrests of his seat and sighed. “Buonamico has made a request of me that I cannot divulge to you.”

Something to do with Ygraine, Arthur thought to himself. “What about the upcoming war, father? We are hardly prepared, and this is distracting us!”

“Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about that. We must stay put and make our fortifications.”

“Is that what Buonamico asked you to do?” he spat.

“This is what _I’m_ telling you, son,” Uther said. “This notion of Beroun being either east or west of us is simply their way of making us guess their strategies. Will they try to blind our archers by attacking at dawn from the east? Or will they use the shadows of the Darkling Woods to get close from the western side, where our walls are lower? Are they luring our armies away from the citadel, in order to weaken our defences?”

“You believe that either way we will see Beroun at our doorstep, and we need to prepare for both options?” Arthur thought aloud.

“I’ve sent Sir Leon on a scouting trip through the eastern lands, where he—”

“Father—”

“Where he is not to engage!” Uther finished angrily.

“Sir Leon is overstepping his position,” Arthur said. Leading the patrols would have been Arthur’s job. He’d _always_ done the investigations in person. He’d had enough of Leon stepping in each time the opportunity presented itself, seeking glory purely for himself. He was training the knights and bedding Morgana, and now he commanded the armies. It was too much!

“Listen to yourself,” Uther said. “You are so concerned about position. Do you really believe there is a status between yours and mine that can be filled?”

Arthur glared at his father. “You wouldn’t understand!” What Morgana had told him had been in the strictest of confidence. Sir Leon was highly regarded by the men, and Arthur couldn’t have his own authority diminished.

“Do you think I don’t?” Uther asked darkly. “Do you think I am not informed of the endless visits to your chambers? Do you think I don’t know whose daughter or wife you’ve taken to bed? Which _servants?_ ” He spat the last word.

Arthur paled.

Uther took a menacing step towards Arthur. “You’re risking the very safety of this kingdom with this selfish behaviour!”

“You’ve no idea!” Arthur shouted. “All that I need to do to maintain my rank. The men, they look up to me. But if I falter but one step, there’s talk!”

“Oh, there’s _talk_!” Uther mocked. “What about when these women give your bastard children, Arthur?”

“They were careful!” Arthur countered.

“No, they were not.” Uther turned away from him and strolled around the back of the room, hiding his expression from Arthur. “Fortunately, I’ve been there to follow up on your recklessness.”

Arthur’s head spun. “Excuse me?” Had Merlin told him about his escapades? Was that why Merlin had been silent all morning? He tried to glare the information out of Merlin, but his manservant gave him no confirmation. He looked quite shocked, in fact. Not Merlin, then. Had Beth talked?

Uther spun on him. “I want you to look at me, Arthur. Look at me, and tell me if you have ever seen me needing to invite people to my bed in order to own my power over this land. That is not _true leadership._ ”

He still couldn’t very well wrap his head around the notion of what Uther had just said. “What did you do to them?!”

“If I had doubts, they were instantly married, which means the children’s heritage cannot and will not be determined.”

“How many?” Arthur demanded, his voice rough. If Uther’s interference had been going that long, then that must mean that Merlin hadn’t done anything last night. Still, it hurt him to think that his father had known all along.

“Two, except one wasn’t carried full term. So, there is one, a girl. Before you ask, I will not tell you. The truth is never to be unveiled.”

Arthur drank his ale in one go. He glanced to Merlin, he didn’t even know why, and he was stunned by the vehemence of his feelings when their eyes locked. He needed to know Merlin’s judgment. In his eyes, Arthur found that Merlin was sympathetic, without pity. It gave Arthur courage to speak.

“Beth did not ruin the painting,” he said, placing the empty chalice on the table. “I did.”

“I know,” Uther said.

“Yet you arrested her?!”

Uther remained unfazed. “She needed her lesson learned.”

“For something completely different!” Arthur shouted.

“Let me be clear. She has been told to stay away from you. As are all young ladies from now on. On the day that you are married, it will be the first time a woman steps into your bed, starting today. Do you und—”

“But—”

“Do you understand me?”

It was entirely unfair. He had always known that he would be called to a halt sooner or later. But the men had taken his lead so strongly. They had chosen the ladies picked by him, and they had left the newer women for Arthur if he pleased. He didn’t want to be rid of that privilege. It had been intoxicating and empowering.

But he didn’t want Beth anymore.

He hadn’t wanted her for days.

“You need to answer me, son.”

It was true. Uther had never used his position of power to sleep with these ladies. Even if it had been in good fun, and the women had been willing, it wasn’t right. He needed to be the most ideal offer the kingdom had for an allegiance, and this destiny had always weighed him down. There was no escaping it anymore.

“Arthur!”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you will sit for Buonamico while the war preparations are begun. I will have that painting before any Saxon king invades us. When we prevail, it will be your symbol for victory.”

“Then I need another day until the history test.”

Uther narrowed his eyes. “I’ve told you already.”

“Yes, you have. And now things have changed. I need time.” He looked at his father steadily. “I’ve studied, but I’m not done. And if you really want the details on Buonamico, you will give me extra time, because I think I can bring you something that will change your thoughts.”

“Very well. And the new painting will commence presently.”

Arthur bit his lip.

“Do not delve too deeply, Arthur. You might not like what you will find,” Uther warned him seriously.

 _I know_ , Arthur thought to himself. _I know all about what you don’t want me to find out._

**

Later that afternoon, Merlin was just done refreshing the stuffing of the prince’s bed when Arthur entered the chambers. He’d been posing for Buonamico once more, but this time he hadn’t allowed Merlin to stay in the room.

Merlin had regarded him stubbornly, though he had secretly been relieved. All this news about Buonamico making secret requests of the king was upsetting. And he had needed time to think. Arthur probably did too.

“Are you ready to study, sire?”

Arthur frowned and shuffled to the window.

“Well, I sure hope you didn’t give him _that_ look, or it’ll be the same all over again,” Merlin quipped, hoping to get a reaction. If Arthur would glue himself at the window, they would never be able to talk about this.

After a moment, Arthur turned to him. “No. I didn’t glare at him.”

Merlin tilted his head. “Are you certain? It is sort of your default expression.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted. “I checked the work this time. It’s not finished yet, but it will do for now.” He played with his mother’s ring against his lips for a moment and said, “I do hope you see that I was right.”

A weight fell off Merlin’s shoulders. Arthur was approachable, at least. He wouldn’t be given the cold shoulder after everything that happened. “I honestly didn’t tell him anything about Camelot, or about your father,” he said, fixing the sheets on Arthur’s bed.

“I know,” Arthur allowed, his voice soft.

He swallowed. “You believe me then?”

Arthur lifted both his eyebrows, as if to explain something in simple terms to him. “No matter what you might think, I do not take you for granted.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin said curiously. “Er, he’s not gotten to you as well, has he?”

Arthur sighed, and cracked his neck. “No, Merlin. I’ve not received any threats. But I am convinced they are real.” His look was forlorn. “I need someone on my side in this.”

Merlin knew what this meant. He would have to let Buonamico go. For the protection of Camelot, Merlin could no longer put his own needs first. For Arthur. He would do anything for Arthur. He’d only been too stubborn to realise it. “What do you need me to do, sire?”

Arthur sighed and turned to him, regarding Merlin’s hands on the sheets. He looked so vulnerable, and Merlin wished he knew the answers to pacify him. Whatever weight he was carrying, it was clearly too much. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he turned and walked over to stand behind his desk.

Merlin followed him with his gaze, fumbling uselessly with the sheets. Was it to be studying, after all? Right now, Arthur was unpredictable. He seemed completely at a loss. “Sire?”

“As well as my father, I’m fairly certain that he has spoken with Lady Morgana,” Arthur said after a while. “I think he knows their greatest secrets. My concern… She… I don’t even know how to say this.”

“Is this about her affair?” Merlin asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Would Morgana reveal herself to Arthur? It was unthinkable. They hardly passed a civil conversation.

Arthur shook his head. “She did reveal the affair to me, but I know it was distraction from the truth. The truth that Buonamico is blackmailing her with.”

“What truth?” Merlin swallowed.

Running a hand through his hair and staring down at the toes of his boots, Arthur looked like he was steeling himself.

Merlin’s heart bled for him.

Eventually, the prince spoke with difficulty. “Lady Morgana has magic.”

Just for a moment the ground fell away under Merlin’s feet. He grabbed hold of the bedpost and steadied himself. Arthur had just spoken the words he should _never_ hear from his mouth. Morgana’s magic was revealed. “How do you know for certain? That is quite an accusation.” He had to fake surprise.

Arthur let out a breath, uneasy. “I saw Buonamico using some powder on Lady Morgana’s portrait. It’s not visible now, so it must be magic. This powder shows the truth of the person portrayed. It revealed her magic to him. Don’t you see how upset she’s been?”

Merlin bit his lip. He felt a shiver down his body. Would Arthur have her put on trial? Would he turn against her? “That’s… terrible.”

“And my father! He’s being blackmailed as well. Neither of them can ever know about the other. What if the truth comes out for either of them? It would _destroy_ them!”

An attack of lightheadedness hit him. “Then you won’t tell your father about her? You know that it’s not her choice that she has magic, right?”

Shaking his head, Arthur played with his ring again. “Still, they’ve lied to me. I couldn’t picture their excuses. So, I’ve been thinking… if my mother had been alive, she would tell me that my father is wrong. Not all who use magic are evil. Some can even be loyal.” He glanced up at Merlin as he said so, and looked almost hopeful.

Merlin found himself nodding, starved for Arthur like a drop of water on a parched day. He forgot to breathe, and his stomach did a somersault. “Yes,” he croaked. It was hard to focus. Did Arthur just speak those words? “I, too… believe that Morgana is loyal.” Tears threatened to prickle at the corners of his eyes, but he swallowed them away just in time.

Merlin’s words were clearly a great relief to Arthur, who let out a deep sigh. “Which is why I need you to talk to Buonamico,” Arthur said.

“Me?” Merlin asked, his eyes wide. “I thought you didn’t want me to go near him?”

Arthur opened a drawer and revealed a small box with a white top, placing it on the desk. “I stole the powder from his room, so he can’t use it anymore. He should be harmless now.” When he opened the lid, there was a radiant glow coming directly from its contents.

The powder inside was gold, bright, and beautiful. It was some kind of ash or pigment, infused with magic. That’s what he had felt earlier in the room! That’s what Arthur had been crying about! Lady Morgana’s magic!

“You want me to tell him that you have it?” Merlin asked.

“No, I need to find out what it is he really wants. I know that he’s got my father and Morgana under wraps. He hasn’t said anything to me yet.”

“He’s got a secret about Uther as well then?” he pried.

“He does,” Arthur said. “He used it on his portrait, I’m sure of it. It has my father out of his wits.”

A thought struck Merlin. “Is that why you destroyed your painting?”

Arthur stared at him wide-eyed.

Obviously not, Merlin thought. But wouldn’t that have been logical?

“Among other things,” Arthur grumbled. “But my greatest concern is that the truths about Morgana and my father never see the light. For that, I might need to get rid of Buonamico completely. Or they will both be forever at risk. Do you understand?”

Merlin frowned. His affections for the painter were turned to dust, if he had come to Camelot in order to reveal Morgana’s magic or Uther’s secrets, for all to see. He could not abide it. Uther would execute his ward, no matter how he had doted on her in the past. All her fears would come true. “More than you know,” he answered at last.

Arthur looked at him hard.

“I will confront him,” Merlin said, his fists clenched. “And you should talk to Beth.”

“Beth?” Arthur asked in surprise. “What for?”

Merlin scoffed. If they were to set things right, Arthur would have to do his bit. “You could, at the very least, apologise.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Merlin, remember?” Arthur said sarcastically.

“But you will do it anyway,” Merlin said, knowing the look on Arthur’s face.

Raising a perfect eyebrow his way, Arthur nodded. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I will.”

**

Mico’s door opened and Merlin stepped inside quickly, before he could change his mind about the whole ordeal. Buonamico was dressed in his painter’s outfit, barefoot, and his hair was loose. He was all smiles when Merlin entered.

“Merlin!” Mico exclaimed. “I thought I would not see you all day.” He rested his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and drew him near. “Did you get the ingredients I asked for?”

Merlin swallowed. Back in the room it was more difficult to confront him. He was reminded of all their activities, and the smell of paints and wine did a number on him. “No. No, I haven’t yet.”

“I will need them for the new portrait,” Mico explained, sliding a hand down Merlin’s arm. “I am painting the prince again.”

Merlin steeled himself against Buonamico’s reaction. “What of the powder you use? I already know about it.”

This had Mico stumped for a moment. His eyes flashed to the work table where a small flask with gold powder was standing. The wooden cork was in it, and it stood innocently among the other paints and powders.

 _There’s more of it,_ Merlin thought miserably. He wasn’t certain whether he was at risk now. Arthur had said that he would be safe. He didn’t even know how it worked, just that it uncovered truth. What had Mico done?! Either way, there was no turning back now.

“I’m not sure how you know about that. It’s a convenient trick, that’s all.”

“And yet you have used it to your advantage,” Merlin said harshly. He felt so bad talking to Mico that way, after Mico had shared so many tales about himself and all his travels. His thoughts of Arthur convinced him to push through. He could not allow his portrait to be made!

“Is that what King Uther said?” Mico asked lightly.

“No, but I know about it anyway. What does it do?” He didn’t miss the subtle threat against the king. How had he been so blind?

Buonamico raised his arms to pull his hair back and tie the black lace around it. “I might tell you, in fact,” he said. “But then you will owe me for that.”

Merlin bit his lips. Each time there was something to gain, Buonamico made sure to let him know about it. He was done. “Just tell me.”

“I want you to consider your loyalties first. The truth can be quite disturbing,” Buonamico warned.

Merlin swore, speaking the words low and clear. “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word ‘loyalty.’”

Buonamico stepped close and cupped Merlin’s face gently, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You think I don’t? Do you think I have not thought about you day and night? I want you to think about the possibility of joining me, Merlin. There would be so much more to gain.”

To his own horror, Merlin found himself kissing back, but his heart wasn’t in it any. “What gain do you speak of?”

Arms folded themselves around Merlin’s waist and held him. Buonamico’s voice was close to his ear. “You could work by my side, instead of Prince Arthur’s. I’ve seen how he treats you. Like dirt. As if you have nothing of value to say.”

Even as he felt his body being pressed to Buonamico’s, and his hands came up to hold himself in that embrace—he couldn’t very well push him away now, not while he still needed information—he knew that what the man said was wrong.

Arthur did listen to him. At least, privately he did. Arthur _cared_. He’d ordered Merlin not to see Buonamico when he knew the man was using magic. “But you see, I have no doubts about my loyalties at all. It will always, _always_ lie with Arthur.” He dropped his title to let Buonamico know the truth of it.

But Buonamico missed the finer ways of court and repeated his point. “I’ve seen him verbally and even physically abuse you and others! You cannot possibly defend him. He treats everyone around him like shit.”

Merlin became angry. “You don’t know the man he is! If he is rough with his men, that’s because they need the discipline. He puts people down because they don’t know their place. And if there is anything you need to know, it is that he is a good man even if he will never say it. He will be the best ruler this kingdom has ever had!”

Lifting both hands in front of his face, Buonamico regarded Merlin as if he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I see,” he said. “I see it clearly now. This look. So _he_ is the one whose life you saved!”

Merlin clenched his fist. He was too pumped to hold back now, so he hissed, “I saved him many times. And I would do it again.”

An easy smile. “You are a man with magic. You do not belong here in Camelot, Merlin!”

Merlin stared at him and frowned. Did he know about that as well? Did he use the powder for that too? He panicked, and he felt his voice nearly crack, threatening to pitch high. “He will never know about that! I’m just a hand with a pitcher to him.”  

“You would risk your life for a man like that?” Buonamico asked him, losing his amicable facade. He seemed severely disappointed that Merlin didn’t hang on his every word anymore.

“His life is worth a thousand of mine!” He advanced on Buonamico to show he wasn’t afraid. “If you’ve used the powder on his portrait—”

“No!” Buonamico jutted his chin. “I did not capture his essence. It wouldn’t work.”

“Tell me now! What does it do? How does it work?” Merlin hissed.

After a long, hard staredown, Buonamico spoke. “It reveals a hidden truth. A portrait must truly resemble the person in question. It’s simple, like I said,” then he hastily added. “Look, it was a gift. I have no magic.”

“You will use it on the new painting,” Merlin said, more to himself. Buonamico still had that opportunity. Merlin couldn’t let that happen. “You should hang for what you’ve done.”

Buonamico spread his arms, all ease. “I’m still working on the king’s personal request. There is nothing you can do to stop me!”

Merlin became irate and growled, “I could bring down this entire castle with a twist of my wrist. Do not tempt me!!”

Still, Buonamico seemed unperturbed. “Your devotion is touching, but—”

Rage built inside of him. “I will not let you defile him! I will destroy this painting!”

Buonamico laughed in his face, his smooth voice bubbling out of him lightly. “I need to sit with him again tomorrow. The king has commissioned the art. I will just begin again. He _will_ have his son’s portrait.”

“Then I will destroy it again tomorrow,” Merlin warned. He glanced over at the two spare panels Buonamico had left on the workbench. “You don’t have many materials left, it seems.”

“No! Don’t touch these! These panels have dried for years!” Buonamico’s eyes went wide. “They’re all I’ve got.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Then I will find a way to remove the ink. You will _not_ manipulate him like you did the King and Lady Morgana!”

Buonamico stepped forward and grabbed Merlin’s wrist. “You forget, Merlin. I could reveal _your_ magic. I’ve heard all about what they do to druids.”

“I’m not a druid,” Merlin sputtered in shock and pulled his hand back.

“Your magic seems to think you are,” he said with a smirk and lifted a finger, which drew spirals in the air.

He wanted to shout at him, to make him understand. But he was losing his footing in their battle. None of his threats had changed his mind. Buonamico was in possession of the knowledge after all, and it had given him power. If Merlin didn’t show what he was made of, everything would fall apart.

He closed his eyes for a moment and regained himself. He gathered his magic to him, rising up from the depth and flowing freely through his limbs. The air around him became thick and heavy.  When he opened his eyes to stare directly at Buonamico, they were glowing gold and his voice was but a whisper. “You think I am afraid to die?” He offered a small, resigned smile. “Then I will die. That will not stop me either.”

That had Buonamico taken aback temporarily. “W-what?”

Merlin saw his chance. He took a step forward and saw how Buonamico took a step back. This was good. “I have died and I will die again,” he said. “Then I return, to continue guarding Prince Arthur.”

If there was a noise at the window of Buonamico’s room, Merlin ignored it.

“I will _always_ choose Arthur’s side,” Merlin continued. “And if you so much as _breathe_ a word about Lady Morgana to Uther, I will skewer you myself.”

“You are making fun of me,” Buonamico said angrily.

“Do not test me,” Merlin said and held up a hand, collecting power to it. It glowed in his hand as a blue orb, a simple trick of light, but it swirled energetically in his hand. He took a step towards the workbench and forced the painter to take another step back. “You will not win this.”

“Alright, alright!” Buonamico’s eyes reflected the orb’s blue glow, and at last he caved. “Stop,” he said, and slumped down to his knees.

“Do you yield?” Merlin asked, feeling giddy with feverish delight at having overcome Buonamico in a battle of wills.

“Yes, dear Merlin. I do not wish to test your powers.” He let out a deep breath. “All was done to save my sisters. I’m sorry I could not tell you.”

Merlin blinked and let go of his magic. It fizzled in his hand and disappeared in a puff of smoke. His magic wanted more, it wanted to be free, to explore, to be part of existence, but Merlin couldn’t let it, so he forced it back down into the depths of his being. He remained wary of anything Buonamico might say or do against him. “What about your sisters?”

“I have three. They are my only remaining family. They have been held at ransom for the past year. I fear one of them, the oldest, might be dead already… She had a babe in her belly, Merlin. Her husband…”

“Your brother-in-law, the man who gave you those scars?” Merlin asked.

“I need to collect the money to free them.” He looked pale and miserable, one of his hands folded around his ribs as though he was trying to rub away his heartache.

“So you blackmailed the king and his ward? And you still plan to do the same to Arthur?” Merlin reached over and picked up the small vial with gold powder. He saw Buonamico’s eyes widen. “I won’t let you. Is this the last of it?”

Buonamico smiled apologetically.

“I’ve already got the box with the white top. I won’t tolerate any more lies!” Merlin warned.

Truly beaten, Buonamico pulled at his hair. “I don’t have enough, Merlin. The king is too tough. He gave me almost nothing! This way, I will never see my sisters again.”

Licking his lips, Merlin took pity. He pocketed the vial and nodded at Buonamico. “Perhaps I can help. Tell me who is holding your sisters.”

“No, no!” He fell to his knees. “I cannot tell you anything. He will kill them. Please, I will get my own supplies tomorrow. Then I will finish the portrait, collect the money, and leave. I must…”

Merlin looked down at him. For all Buonamico’s great travels, he looked like a man who had no footing in the true ways of the world. He was a wandering ghost. “Is that how you left King Alined’s castle? With too little cash and guards at your heels?”

Buonamico looked up from his position on the floor, his eyes wet and his hands trembling. “The secrets I carry, Merlin. You wouldn’t know the burden.”

Merlin glared at him foully. “Wouldn’t I?”


	9. Devotion

Arthur rushed down to the dungeons. He would need to talk to Beth before Merlin discovered that he had stalled. He had been watching—again. There was so much on his mind now, Buonamico’s threats, Merlin’s magic, his _bloody_ magic, that he entirely missed the two people standing next to Beth’s cell when he arrived.

“Morgana!” he cried out. “Gwen!” He stifled a hiccup that threatened to bubble up in his shock.

They both looked at him curiously. “What are you doing here?” Morgana asked, startled. Gwen’s look expressed exactly the same.

“I’ve come to talk to Beth,” he said, glancing at the blond woman behind the bars. “And to you as well, actually, Morgana.”

“I would start with her if I were you,” she said and crossed her arms. Her green eyes regarded him coolly. She was dressed simply again, without accessories, but her hair was fixed in place properly this time.

“She’s innocent, sire. You know that, don’t you?” Gwen added, aiming for the gentler approach.

“I know! I know. Beth, I’m sorry this happened to you. I’ve spoken with my father, and he knows you did not do it.”

Beth stood up and approached the bars. She had not been whipped, but looked like she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since last night. Her eyes were dull and sad. “Sire, I don’t know what I did to end up here.”

Arthur clenched his fist. “Someone made a mistake in reporting you. It was I who destroyed the portrait. It was a direct attempt to insult me and—” he paused. It didn’t matter. “What happened was wrong, Beth. I will do what I can to set it right.” He reached out to take her hand.

Before he could, she retreated into the cell, out of Arthur’s reach.

“She’s no longer yours to play with, Arthur,” Morgana said sharply.

Arthur glanced sideways. “Yes, I’ve seen. She is with Sir Gwaine now.” He shouldn’t have been so surprised that Gwaine had taken his pickings so soon.

“Once more you fail to see the picture,” Morgana snapped at him. Gwen kept her distance behind the lady, on the lookout.

“You mean how you told my father about me?” Arthur took a wild guess. If anyone would have ratted out his escapades, it would have been her. “Well, rest assured, your secret is safe with me. Both of them are,” he said.

Morgana frowned at him. “She has been with Sir Gwaine for some time, Arthur.”

This time he properly paid attention to Morgana, moving away from the cell and turning to her. “What?”

“It’s true, my lord!” Beth called from her cell.

“Then why did you approach me?”

“It was your eye that fell on me, sire.” Beth wrung her hands in front of her.

Arthur worked his jaw. “You could have said ‘no’. You could have _told_ me.” He sighed, and lifted his hand before Morgana could reproach him. “I’m not some monster who can’t be denied. I refuse those allegations with all my being.”

“Oh, my lord!” Beth breathed. “No. I wanted… I mean, my rank in the castle was still very low. My union with Sir Gwaine would be frowned upon. Gwen was helping me hold it together. But it was my choice to… I’m sorry, I have used you poorly!” She hid her head in her hands.

Arthur stared at the ceiling of the dungeons. How could this have gone so wrong? Was it all his doing, his obsession with the order among his men and the servants, that they listened to it so closely as to follow these mad principles? Was his father right, after all?

“Beth, it’s Annabeth, right?” Arthur asked her.

“Yes, sire.” She wasn’t crying, but her shame was written over her features. She rubbed her nose.

“Give me your hand. Just for a moment. I won’t do anything, just hold it.” He offered his hand through the cell bars again.

She hesitated for a moment, pulled her long, loose hair back over her shoulder and advanced. Step by step, she inched forward and eventually lay her hand on his.

“Sir Gwaine is a good man. You don’t need my chambers to affirm your status. What you need is my blessing. And you have it.”

Despite her obvious battle against them, tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Yes, sire.” She made a valiant attempt at keeping her voice stable, and Arthur nodded at her.

“Well,” came Morgana’s comment, poisonous as ever. “Colour me shocked.”

He really wished that Morgana wouldn’t rub salt into his wounds. Not now. Not when he was trying. He let go of Beth’s hand and looked between Morgana and Gwen. Would Gwen know about Morgana’s own affair? He supposed she probably did. That’s how it went with personal servants. But she wouldn’t know about the magic, would she? That was a step too far.

Arthur regarded Morgana equally sharply and lifted his chin. “I know what Buonamico spoke to you about.”

This time, and perhaps for the first in Arthur’s living memory, she didn’t have a stinging reply. She held her lips firmly together, the slightest tilt of her head daring him to expose her.

“I’m not revealing it to anyone. Buonamico is under pressure not to speak of this to anyone.” Arthur sighed. “The secret that you offered me before, to distract me. Is it true as well?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell anyone? You who always shouts the loudest!” Morgana evaded his question entirely.

It was true. It would be a time for Arthur to remove Morgana from her comfortable pedestal. “Because,” Arthur said and approached her. “I’ve been thinking about what my mother would say on the matter. If she had still been alive, her words would have been so different from mine. So, I strive to live up to that.”

Morgana looked small suddenly. Harrowed, angry, and frightened within an inch of her life.

He stepped up and put an arm around her, and then the other. “I do love you, Morgana. Like a sister. You should know that.” He didn’t know if she knew the truth of her heritage. He didn’t even care if she knew. He simply held her.

Trembling, Morgana stood stock still for several seconds before she made a minimal effort to embrace him back. Over Morgana’s shoulder, Gwen looked like she might have things to say about this, but refrained from doing so at great cost to her patience. In her moment’s distraction, feet were heard descending.

Arthur broke apart from Morgana, but not before he heard her quickly say, “It’s true,” to him in a way that couldn’t be mistaken. She was involved with Sir Leon then. Another secret to keep from their father.

Halfway down the stairs, the quick fall of feet suddenly slowed. They all looked up to see Merlin descend.

“My lord?” he asked. He looked at all present, eyes wide. “My lady?”

My lord indeed, Arthur thought. He was suddenly bizarrely aware of the size and shapes of the room, of his own strange pose and the rosy colour on Morgana’s cheeks. He coughed and straightened himself oddly. “I’ve spoken to Beth. I will have her released at once.”

Merlin nodded and glanced between Morgana and Arthur for a moment longer before turning to climb the stairs again.

For all that had happened, it seemed like he had just made a report to Merlin, and he felt a hundred times more awkward than he should. His palms were sweating and there was an odd sensation in his belly as he followed Merlin up the stairs.

He paused on the steps and turned around. “Regarding your secrets, Morgana… I don’t know if you need my blessing at all, but you have them nonetheless.” He nodded at her once and climbed after Merlin.

“If you can get them back,” Morgana said calmly, “I would be very pleased.”

“Get them back?” Arthur asked.

“My jewels.” She let out a breath as if it had cost her to say this. But it couldn’t have cost her anything further, because Arthur already knew, and Merlin had put pressure on Buonamico.

Arthur nodded at her and rushed up the stairs. He was carrying so many secrets now. He couldn’t rightly bear them. He quickly arranged and signed for Beth’s release and saw Merlin waiting in the corridor for him, walking ahead of him to Arthur’s chambers.

Walking ahead of him. Arthur didn’t know if he should find that odd. Merlin had just defended him with everything he had. In fact, he’d said quite a bit more than that. If there was anything that had held him back in claiming his want for Merlin, there were no barriers now. Still, the words had hurt as well, for he felt the weight that they bore rest heavily on him. He could defy his father, he probably would, many times. But could he defy him in this?

He sighed and walked in silence, focusing on nothing but the back of Merlin’s head, the shape of his ears, and the way his neckerchief revealed part of his neck, right under his carefully cut hairline. Merlin had shared himself with Buonamico, had given everything of himself. And now he had been grossly misled. It would be hurting him.

When they entered Arthur’s chambers, he closed and locked the door. Merlin regarded the key turn oddly and looked up at him. Arthur didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat, tried to focus his thoughts into coherent words, failed entirely and made his escape to the window.

“What did she say?” Merlin pried before he was there.

“Beth?”

A moment of silence. “Yes.”

Arthur didn’t look at him. He had to tell him the truth about knowing about everything. He needed to come clean. He knew it. If Merlin had this much goodness and loyalty in him, he had to match it. Guilt threatened to crush him. “I, er… she was fine. I mean, she’s been with Gwaine for some time apparently. This was just a… a means to establish herself.”

Merlin sighed. “Offering herself to the tidal wave of gossip?”

“I should never have—” he cut himself short and stared up at the sky. There was no reason to dwell.

“Would you like something to eat, sire?”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” It surprised him. Normally he would be ravenous by now.

“How is Lady Morgana?”

Arthur heard some drawers open and close. He sighed. “She’s—” He spun around to see what Merlin was doing, suddenly terrified that he might have opened the desk drawer with the powder and with his sketches. But Merlin was only putting socks away.

“What?” Merlin asked, and he looked at the socks as if there might be something wrong with them. “They’re washed!”

Arthur felt a grin tug on the corner of his mouth, relief flooding through him. “Lady Morgana is fine. Just shaken. Buonamico has taken her jewellery. We will need to get it back for her.”

Merlin looked miserable at that. And Arthur knew. He _knew_ all the reasons. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was out before he even realised he’d said the words.

In his surprise, Merlin managed to not quite sulk. “I didn’t even know you knew the expression, my lord,” he quipped, equally seeking something light between them.

“Oh, I do!” he said in a hurry. “I’m sorry that…” Arthur played with the ring on his finger and stepped away from the window. He would need to go over everything with him. One thing at a time. “I’m sorry that me being right about Buonamico has hurt you. You loved him, and he couldn’t be trusted.”

“I didn’t love him,” Merlin said airily, avoiding Arthur’s eyes.

“So, you’re not hurt?” Arthur asked, confused.

“I didn’t say that…” Even now his voice sounded light, though he couldn’t possibly be feeling that way.

Arthur pushed on, the pressure of all his secrets heavy. “But you defend him. You went back to him. Why?”

Merlin sighed and hung his head, as though it was impossible for him to talk about it. “He was pretty?”

Arthur didn’t miss how Merlin threw his own shallow argument back at him. “You said yourself that that is not enough.” He leaned against the bedpost and watched Merlin work.

A frown, a shrug. A dimple in his chin. “Sometimes it has to be.” He hung up one of Arthur’s shirts and placed it back into the wardrobe.

A sharp pang stabbed through Arthur’s chest, both hopeful and ridiculously jealous at the same time. He was sharply aware of the strange distance between them, the oddness of his own body and the cleanness of the sheets beside him. Each time Merlin admitted his activities, his cheeks would colour and he would turn shy for a moment. As if he would be punished for it. Did Merlin think so little of him?

Instead of dwelling, Merlin swallowed and stepped forward with a small glass vial in his hand. “I’ve got some more of the powder. Should we bring it to Gaius for safekeeping?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. He might seek Gaius out for supplies. He might come looking for you. I think it’s safer here. There is no reason for him to suspect me.” He held his hand out and Merlin placed the vial in his palm. The simple gesture conveyed so much trust that Arthur felt even further overpowered by his guilt, for every moment he had watched, for all the secrets he had unveiled. For all that his father had revealed to him.

“Will you inform your father on him?” Merlin asked solemnly.

“He doesn’t have any more powder, but he still needs to finish the portrait. When the painting is done and safety might be guaranteed for all involved, I will bring the powder to my father and tell him what I know,” Arthur said. _And conceal all that I discovered._

“It’s going to be fine,” Merlin told him.

He grimaced and shook his head. It really wasn’t. If he didn’t tell Merlin the truth, then he didn’t deserve him. If he told him, Merlin would rethink his loyalties entirely.

“Arthur?”

“I’ve done terrible things, Merlin,” he said, looking at the vial in his hand. It suddenly seemed an impossible task to say what he’d seen and what he’d done. “To many people,” he evaded.

“We all make mistakes,” Merlin said, forgetting to address Arthur properly. “Our people are strong, let’s not forget.”

Arthur didn’t comment. He pocketed the vial and felt entirely stumped as to any next move to make. Merlin was close. He feared that anything he would do or say might chase him off again. What was there to say to keep him there? He racked his brain and bumbled, “Why do you always know the right thing to say?”

Merlin grinned an endearing smile. It transformed his face, his cheeks, his eyes, and suddenly the weight of the world didn’t sit so heavily on Arthur’s shoulders.

But it should. He should carry the weight of everything he caused. Even when the results eluded him. He regarded Merlin, entirely lost as to what to do, all his barriers down. “I have a daughter…”

The words were both the heaviest he had ever spoken and at the same time held no meaning to him. He understood the gravity of the situation, and felt wholly unequipped to deal with it. He knew the battlefield, he knew strategies, but he had no idea what it meant to be a father. “I don’t even know her name.”

Licking his lips, Merlin seemed at a loss for words. He shifted his weight and offered, “She might not be yours.”

Arthur huffed. “You and I both know that isn’t true. My father would never take any measures unless they were absolutely necessary.”

Merlin bit his lip and looked down, confirming his own suspicions. “But she’s got a family, hasn’t she?”

While that was true… “It leaves me entirely incapable of protecting her,” he said, and he knew that his voice was shaking and he felt his eyes prickling. He was an utter failure to her already. How could he have been so reckless?

Whether it was his words, his voice, or the start of tears rolling down his cheeks, he didn’t know, but when he felt Merlin’s arms around him, he fell into the embrace as if it had been the first one he’d ever received.

“You’re not protecting just her, Arthur,” Merlin whispered in his ear. “You’re protecting _everyone_. You should remember that.”

He pulled his arms more tightly around Merlin, selfishly, grossly reveling in the feeling of Merlin’s body against his, despite his current anguish. The conflicted wash of emotions triggered his guilt once more, and he swallowed a sob. He felt like his brain might catch on fire, and he held his breath to try and force away his remorse.

“Look on the bright side, sire. You managed to skip your test today,” Merlin jested. One of his hands lay warmly on Arthur’s neck, a thumb gently stroking his skin.

Despite himself, Arthur snorted and drank up the relief that Merlin’s lightness allowed him to experience. He needed to hold himself together, one problem at a time.

His current problem was that he was unable to let go. He knew he should step back. Merlin’s light joke had clearly signalled that. And yet he kept his arms where they were, one around his shoulders and the other around his waist. It felt good to have Merlin’s body fully against his own.

It gave him a sense of exploration. Was it just a mere whim he was chasing, or did he truly want this? His hand around Merlin’s middle squeezed lightly, experimentally, testing what it would feel like. It slowly dipped lower, searching for shapes over his hip. There was no corset hiding Merlin’s shape from him, no long hair to hide his features. Just a baggy jacket. But Merlin began moving away from him.

Arthur held him a moment longer, reluctant to remove himself from the embrace. Merlin’s surprised breath rolled over his neck. Arthur wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. He wanted to see skin, he wanted Merlin’s submission, something that would set his mind straight. He wanted some way to establish that he was in control of things. But when Merlin’s arms removed themselves, there was no reason to keep him trapped.

Reluctantly, he pulled his arms back, but didn’t step away. He was a complete wreck. He didn’t feel fit to be a prince, let alone to aspire to being a king. He rubbed at his eyes until he saw spots, hoping that Merlin wouldn’t move away. His vicinity, his ever-present dedication, and his silence were helping him put his thoughts in order.

When his face was clean, he looked at Merlin again and was momentarily stunned at how intoxicatingly shattered he was. His lips were parted, cheeks flushed, and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were focused somewhere else in the room, and Arthur could just make out a spark of tears in the corners of his eyes.

How Arthur wanted him.

He stepped in, cupped Merlin’s face between the palms of his hands and kissed him, before he might walk away again and never take the gamble.

Merlin froze instantly.

His lips were soft, softer than Arthur would have expected. His heart skipped a beat while a heat bloomed inside of him. His mind went a thousand ways, with a thousand worries criss-crossing in seconds.

Then Merlin pulled back, gasped once as if he had lived a life without breath, and leaned in, eyes shut, to kiss him back. Merlin’s hands grabbed Arthur’s arms to steady himself and to bring them closer. Arthur felt the knot in his gut unwind and the blood leave his brain completely, pushing all thoughts and worries away entirely.

As Merlin tilted his head and began kissing back, fireworks went off in Arthur’s brain. Arthur responded, kissing him again, and again, unaware of whether he was still breathing or even still alive. Merlin’s mouth was all that mattered.

What began as a tentative kiss, soon became a conquest for Arthur’s mouth, as Merlin’s kisses developed into hungry, aggressive, smacking kisses, which sent fire to Arthur’s cheeks. He felt the pressure of Merlin’s eager lips hard against his teeth. Eventually Merlin’s tongue invaded, and all Arthur could think was _finally_ , he was experiencing this powerful, glorious, hungry kiss for himself.

Suddenly, Merlin was off him, taking a step back and staring at him with wide, shocked blue eyes, the tendons in his neck taut.

Arthur let go. He was in serious need of oxygen, as though he had just returned from melee practice. Merlin looked stunning, his normally pale cheeks flush all the way down to his neck. But Merlin’s brows were pinched in suspicion. Had Arthur been wrong, after all? Had he overstepped his bounds, selfishly, yet again?

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said and lifted a hand in his direction. “You’re not…”

“Just because I haven’t yet,” Arthur began, but he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. For the first time he could look at Merlin and show his desire, without guarding his features. He took in all he could, eyes roaming over his figure, wishing that Merlin’s stance wasn’t so defensive.

Merlin clearly wasn’t convinced. “Is this about what your father said about your late night visits?” He tilted his head and regarded Arthur with worry.

“No!” He frowned. Uther’s reprimands were fresh in his head. “I told you already, before that. You don’t belong with him.” He hoped that Merlin would understand. The words preceded Uther’s judgment after all.

Merlin swallowed. “Are you worried I would still go to him? Because I—”

“Shut up, Merlin,” he breathed and stepped in, grabbing a hold of Merlin’s neckerchief. “I won’t repeat myself. If you don’t want this, you just need to say it.” He shoved the material down to reveal the marks on Merlin’s neck, faded reddish-brown spots indicating Buonamico’s earlier work. “Do you want me to stop?” He paused and looked up at him, the hunger coursing through his body almost overpowering.

Merlin gasped and his whole body stood trembling. “No,” he whispered, barely audible.

Pleased with his submission, Arthur grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s shirt, pulling him close, and pressed his mouth against Merlin’s neck, covering the marks and claiming them as his own. He felt the blood flow straight to his dick, his cravings finally answered.

“Ahh,” Merlin whimpered, and hissed through his teeth when Arthur bit down and suckled on the tender skin. His hands folded around Arthur’s back and held on, fingers digging in, pulling their bodies flush.

They were both shaken up when the alarm bells suddenly rang, sharp and loud. Arthur pulled back and their eyes locked for a moment, settling into the new, both of them curious, eager, frightened.

“The painting!” Arthur blurted. It was the first thing on his mind. They disentangled themselves awkwardly. Arthur tried to straighten out his clothes to appear presentable and turned towards the door.

“Arthur!” Merlin interrupted him. “Your sword.” He hurried to the table where the sword and belt lay and threw them to Arthur.

He caught them and strapped them around his waist while Merlin opened the door for him. Hyper-aware of every move Merlin made, Arthur knew he wouldn’t have time to dwell on what they had just shared. They didn’t even have time to name it. There were voices shouting for assistance along the corridors so he sped in that direction. He heard Merlin’s footfalls, ever close at his heels.

**

Merlin followed so closely behind that, should Arthur suddenly stop running, they would certainly collide. He couldn’t help it. He was stunned beyond belief, and his soul was loathe to depart from Arthur’s side for more than a couple of feet.

Instead of towards Buonamico’s guest chambers, they spun to a side corridor, where guards were gathering. Merlin couldn’t imaging caring about anything else in the world besides Arthur’s lips, his skin, and the ferocity in his gaze when he made his point. His skin on his neck burned pleasantly, his heart fluttered, and his hands itched to touch, to explore. But he didn’t know if that was something he would be allowed to do. And it nearly drove him mad. It took all his willpower to rein himself in and appear presentable.

There was a great noise coming from the end of the corridor. Merlin didn’t like that Arthur wasn’t wearing his armour, but the guards were all armed, so they would be safe. When they arrived to the scene, it wasn’t to face an enemy. The guards parted to let the prince through.

On the ground lay a dead guard, surrounded by blood, two stab wounds visible at his neck. It was near a side door to the castle. The guards reported their discoveries to the prince, while Merlin carefully stowed away his enthusiasm and bit away the emotions welling up inside of him.

A stable boy lurking nearby had been caught by the scruff of his neck and had admitted that he had provided Buonamico with a cart and a horse against a sum of coin.

Merlin’s head spun.

It couldn't be.

Buonamico had left.

He had taken off before completing Arthur’s painting, taking Uther’s and Morgana’s secrets with him. And _Merlin’s_ too. Like a spy in the night. And he had murdered one of Camelot’s guards in order to make his escape.

“We’ve signalled the gates to close, sire,” one of the guards said. “He can’t have gotten far. We shall have him apprehended before midnight!”

Arthur nodded at the man and clapped his shoulder. “If you find him, take him straight to the dungeons. There is to be no parading and no public shaming. We need to get to the bottom of this before any confessions are extracted. I will be called, no matter the hour. You there, alert my father and Lady Morgana, separately, that we are doing all we can and they needn’t worry.”

Merlin stood in silence, admiring Arthur for his protection of Lady Morgana. His heart swelled a little more, daring to fill his insides with a glowing warmth that would not be denied. He pulled his neckerchief a little tighter and felt his hands shaking. He didn’t even know what had just happened, but he felt as though he were afloat, tugged along by an invisible tide on a flying raft, giddy and stupid.

His only heavy anchor was knowing that Buonamico was gone. He knew there wasn’t much else that could be done. Letting a man like that go before his commissions were completed, with the king’s wealth, was unheard of. More importantly, letting him leave with state secrets and Morgana’s jewellery was downright impossible. He closed his eyes, fearful for the inevitability of Buonamico’s death.

Suddenly, Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder. He thought that this would be it. He would be taken into questioning now. He would be asked about all his conversations he held with Buonamico, and he would have to confess. Instead, it was Arthur who searched his eyes, until he had Merlin’s full attention.

“I can’t spin this any other way,” Arthur said, voice hushed while Gaius arrived to examine the body.

“I know,” Merlin whispered and nodded quickly. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly. Merlin lifted his chin, to show that he would be able to handle this. Looking into Arthur’s eyes, though, had him melting once more, falling apart at the seams and only barely holding himself together. He wondered if Arthur had any _idea_ what he had done to him.

Arthur seemed to consider something. “Has he ever told you where he would go if he would leave?”

Merlin thought for a moment and shook his head.

“Alright,” Arthur said and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder again, fingers lingering. “I don’t know what my father will do if his disappearance proves successful. He might just let him go.”

He felt a shiver run through his body. Everything Merlin had worked for would come to an end if Buonamico would ever tell anyone about magic in the heart of Camelot. Merlin’s threats had chased the man off. And now nobody would be safe. “It’s all my fault,” he concluded miserably.

“Of course not,” Arthur said. “How could you have known?”

“We can’t let him leave, Arthur. Not with all that he knows.” He looked straight at Arthur, trying to convey the extreme importance without giving anything away.

Arthur held his gaze for a long moment before turning to the stable boy. His voice was low and threatening, spoken behind the backs of the guards who were avidly listening to Gaius’s instructions how to bring the body to his workshop. “I will reduce your punishment if you keep two fresh horses at the ready. Brush them down and saddle them. You will wait until dawn to see if I have need of them. Is that understood?” The boy nodded and made his escape, with a gentle reassuring slap against his shoulder from Arthur, to hurry him along.

Merlin watched the exchange take place and loved Arthur a little more, if that were possible. It was a risk, he knew, but Buonamico _had_ to be found.

“Shouldn’t we go straight away?”

Arthur shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fitting. Not for someone like him.” After the stable boy had run off, Arthur pulled Merlin to a quieter place down along the corridors. “You’ve threatened him, yes?”

“No, I… Maybe,” he admitted with a sigh. “Yes.” He was glad no one else was around to hear him.

A small smile played around the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Merlin chortled. He was relieved that their jests hadn't changed, wouldn’t change… “You don’t believe me?”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and was clearly trying very hard not to smile.

“A man who doesn’t fight is easily intimidated,” Merlin offered lightly. He felt a strange relief flood through him. Despite everything that might go wrong, Arthur was doing the right thing, and it would offer him a chance to set everything straight. A chance was all he needed.

“If he is found, he won’t talk, right?” Arthur asked. When Merlin shook his head, Arthur continued. “If he isn’t found, and we find him on our own… are you prepared to—?”

“Wait!” Merlin said. He took a step closer and whispered urgently, “He didn’t do it out of malice. He’s trying to save his sisters, his family. They are being held at ransom. He’s not a bad person, Arthur. Despite what he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered.”

Arthur looked down the hall at the body of one of their guards on the floor and back to Merlin. “I want to believe you, Merlin. But if this murder is any indication, he is incapable of being a good person anymore.”

“He’s under threat from someone else, and now from us as well. Does a trapped dog not bare its teeth?” He didn’t expect Arthur to understand him. Arthur had always been surrounded by knights and armies. He’d always had it easy.

“We only have one opportunity to make that choice. With the likelihood of an upcoming siege, I cannot spare but a day to chase after him if we must. I don’t want to leave you alone to handle it, but… I trust you to do the right thing.”

Confounded, Merlin simply stared at him. And it broke his heart how this much trust was offered, how gentle Arthur’s tone had been, while he was lying about himself each and every day.

“I need to tell you something important.”

It was Arthur who had spoken, and Merlin held his breath. The way Arthur held up his hand and touched his mother’s ring against his lips told Merlin that it was important. That he was searching for the right words.  

Whatever he might have said was interrupted by a loud rushing of feet and clangor of platemail. A group of knights and guards arrived at the scene, elated to bring word of victory.

“Your painter! He’s in custody!”

“Hadn’t even left the city gate, something about fixing the tarp.”

“Went quietly, that one.”

“Good work, I’ll speak to him at once.” Arthur said and spared a cautious glance in Merlin’s direction before following the men out towards the dungeons.

Merlin couldn’t follow him. Not now. Not with everything so twisted inside of him. While he was relieved that Arthur trusted him, despite all that had been happening, it gnawed on him. Buonamico wasn’t a killer. He hadn’t thought it possible. And what had Arthur been about to say? Either way, he doubted he would find out now.

Buonamico had been captured.

All the secrets were kept in the most dangerous place possible.


	10. Favour

The next morning Arthur woke well before dawn. He spent some time trying to shut the world out, but it steamrolled back over him without mercy. All that happened the day before came back vividly: the confrontation with his father, Merlin’s defense of Camelot, his magic… He rolled over and fought inwardly over all that that meant. He recalled Morgana’s petrification at the dungeons when he’d admitted his knowledge of her magic and her vulnerable shell opening up to him once he’d said he would protect her. Would Merlin react the same if he told him he knew what he was?

He thought about Beth’s admission and the incessant power struggles complicating everything. How could Sir Gwaine even stand to look at him? What did the knights really think of him? He was beginning to understand why Sir Leon held no regard for his rank. Leon had already stepped outside these constructions, feigning his involvement with Maybelle as a result. All for Morgana.

His head spun and he twisted around in the sheets, seeking comfort and failing miserably. The rains had ended and the clear skies promised more heat.

_Buonamico had been brought to the dungeons, shackled, and left without food or water. A mere bucket in the corner was to be his companion. Arthur had gone down to question him, surrounded by the group of guards who had brought him in. But the man had remained quiet, seated on the small bench, looking only at his feet._

_“You will be charged with stealing the king’s gold and the murder on Winton, who served in the Royal Guard of Camelot. We’re searching through your belongings now if there’s anything else you have taken from the castle,” Arthur told him. He hoped that Morgana’s jewellery was still intact._

_“I am a ruined man. What more could you want?” Buonamico sighed, leaning his head back against the wall to look at him._ _  
_

_Arthur glared at him, considering telling him everything he knew. He chewed his cheek and decided instead to test him. “And you had to involve one of our own staff in your ongoing thefts!”_

_Buonamico jumped up and grabbed the bars. “No! He has nothing to do with this!”_

_Narrowing his eyes, Arthur measured the man’s reactions. “Then you confess it was all you?” At least he was still protective over Merlin. Perhaps that was his only redeeming quality._

_“I did not kill the guard,” Buonamico whispered, lowering his head and hiding his expression. “I could never commit such an act.”_

_“We have a witness who puts you on the scene!” Arthur shouted. “You will confess to your deeds by tomorrow, or else both of them will face the same fate!” He had to put pressure, at least that way he could persuade his father to convict._

_“I will not confess to something I did not do,” Buonamico said, gripping the bars tighter. He glared at Arthur, a good attempt of it at least. “Please, keep Merlin out of this.”_

_“I’ll let him fill in the gaps for me,” Arthur growled and pointed at him. “You think he’s yours to play with? These games end now!”_

Buonamico’s next words still floated in his mind hours later, as he threw the sheets off the bed and got up. It wasn’t time to get up yet, but he had his history test today and he was thoroughly distracted from it. He’d have to reread some chapters and study the facts once more. So he got dressed and lit a candle before sitting down at his desk. But no matter which books he opened, Buonamico’s words kept coming back.

_“He was never mine to begin with, you know… You don’t deserve him.”_

Arthur closed the book he’d been trying to read and brought his hand to his mouth, rolling the cool metal of his mother’s ring against his lip. Buonamico had kept Merlin’s secret, even under pressure. He hadn’t tried to bargain his way out. He had kept Uther’s secret and Morgana’s as well. That wasn’t what he had expected at all.

_“You don’t deserve him.”_

He heard it again, replaying in his mind. Buonamico’s voice had been rough. Jealous even.

It did something strange to Arthur, something he wasn’t prepared for. He began to hope. He wanted Buonamico’s words to be true and could ponder endlessly over what Merlin thought of him. Merlin wanted him too. Merlin wanted _him_.

Merlin had defended him, even when it wasn’t required. But he had also laughed at Arthur’s expense, called him immature and negligent. He didn’t know why that mattered, but it _did._ Perhaps Buonamico was right and Arthur _didn’t_ deserve him. Then again, perhaps it was the other way around. Merlin was a sorcerer. He’d kept his own secrets, hadn’t he? Did it even matter?!

All this thinking was ridiculous! Merlin was loyal, Arthur had _seen_ it, in the visions created by his abuse of the magic powder. He rubbed his face, shook the thoughts from his mind and continued reading.

He managed to put his mind to history lessons for a good few hours. He stamped too many dates into his head, memorised the names of kings and queens, armies and techniques, treaties and victories for some hours. He found solace in working through the difficult pages, until he heard the door open and close.

The world seemed to pause for a moment when Merlin’s gaze met his, and their eyes locked. For some reason Arthur held his breath. Everything in the room had changed, was different, now that Merlin was there. Arthur could feel it. It just was.

“Sire?” Merlin spoke first. He carried a tray with Arthur’s breakfast and looked like he hadn’t had much rest that night either. His hair was forced into some pretense of a decent combing job, one lock blatantly confusing to conform.

Arthur noticed that he hadn’t bothered with his jacket today, or with his scarf. He simply wore his red tunic and his thin belt over it. Two angry red marks stood out on the side of his neck, unmistakable.

It did something to Arthur to see those marks, to have his claim visible for all to see. He liked it. A lot. Even if he wasn’t up for playing that game anymore since his father’s reprimand, it ignited a fierce possessiveness. Something inside of him swelled with pride and awkwardness. He leaned back in the chair, entirely uncomfortable in his own skin, and he wondered if he would ever properly recall what normalcy had been like.

Merlin put the tray with food down and rushed to the window. He looked up at the sky, as though he was trying to determine whether or not he was late. He turned to regard Arthur again. “You’re up?”

“So it would seem,” Arthur said, feeling a treacherous smirk tug on the corner of his mouth. He pushed his chair back and got up.

Hands flailed in his direction. “And… you’re dressed.”

“The obvious doesn’t elude you, does it? I _can_ dress myself, you know.” He came to a stop in front of Merlin and put his hands on his hips. He felt giddy while Merlin looked him over.

“That remains to be seen,” Merlin said, a dangerously humorous spark in his eyes. “Your shirt’s inside out.”

Arthur checked the hems of his shirt and cried, “It is not!”

Merlin licked his lips and tried to suppress a grin. “Made you look, though.”

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur fought a laugh bubbling up, poorly. He could barely begin to wrap his head around Merlin’s cheerful attitude amidst their current trials. It thrilled him to the point that he felt a chill traveling down his spine and a warmth in his gut, upsetting the balance and clouding his judgment.

He took a deep breath and pushed through, asking, “Where are we?”

Merlin clearly felt the awkwardness as well, folding his hands around his middle. “Besides the obvious, you mean?” he offered with a half-smile.

“Merlin…”

Leaning his head down to study his feet, Merlin mumbled, “I want to speak with him.”

“Out of the question!” Arthur barked.

“It’s not like that. Please, I—”

But Arthur had his hands in Merlin’s shirt already, grabbing roughly. “Is this where we are?”

Merlin glared at him and hissed, “If he is to be interrogated, tortured, and possibly hanged for his crime, doesn’t he at least deserve to know where I stand?”

“And where is that?” Arthur asked, the question weighing heavily on him.

Merlin huffed and shoved Arthur’s hands away. He stepped in, grabbed Arthur by his collar and yanked him forward to pull him into a crushing kiss.

Arthur, who should have known better by now, hadn’t expected Merlin’s forwardness and gave in helplessly to Merlin’s mouth, instantly hooked on the feeling of Merlin’s tongue against his own, to the point that everything else in the world faded into oblivion. There was only Merlin and his glorious, hot, wet mouth.

Wanting more, he put his arms around Merlin and pulled him close, revelling as Merlin gave in eagerly and wrapped himself around him. Fingers stroked through Arthur’s hair, a hand clutched his shoulder. A small, needy moan from Merlin’s throat had Arthur deepen the kiss further, taking control back and seeking to establish himself. He wanted to prove himself to Merlin, that he was worthy, that he deserved him, that he wasn’t afraid to dive into this head-first. And Merlin took it all in, meeting him at every step.

At last, Merlin pulled back and whispered into his mouth, breathing heavily, “By your side… whatever happens.”

***

Merlin felt himself be lifted, one leg hanging on each side of Arthur’s hips. Arthur’s strong hands held him in place as though he weighed nothing. It brought their bodies close together, and Merlin held onto Arthur’s shoulders, breathless as he felt the swell at Arthur’s breeches. He was carried across the room and tossed onto Arthur’s bed. He huffed at the gesture, yet he was also impossibly turned on by it. Arthur loomed over him, looking him over in a dirty way that Merlin hadn’t even dared to imagine in his wildest fantasies.

Before Merlin could make a remark, Arthur was over him, pressing him into the mattress, and Merlin spread his legs to let him, and to feel him, his soaring heat, against his own body. This was Arthur claiming him, wanting him, showing _him_ favour—perhaps not that, but something like that—and Merlin felt like he could go mad for finally, _finally,_ knowing what that was like. It felt impossibly good.

Arthur’s body was heavy against his, grinding against Merlin’s hips, rubbing sweetly against his erection, in a way that left him breathless and desperate. Arthur’s lips explored his cheek, his neck, his ear. He couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped him when Arthur sucked on a lobe. A hand snuck between them, undid Merlin’s belt, and greedily began lifting his shirt.

He whimpered and sniffed in Arthur’s scent, the warm skin at his collar, and buried his mouth against Arthur’s shoulder to silence his own desperation. All he could do was hold on, his arms crossed over Arthur’s shoulders, pretending to hold him in place. He lifted his legs to cross his ankles behind Arthur’s back, to let him know it wasn’t just Arthur calling the shots.

Arthur stilled.

Merlin breathed in, his fingers digging into Arthur’s back.

Slowly, Arthur began to pull back, plucking Merlin’s legs away. He stood upright, leaving Merlin a shivering wreck against the unmade sheets, his shirt pulled up over his belly.

 _No, no, no,_ Merlin thought. It couldn’t stop now! He looked up at Arthur’s pink cheeks, his dark blue eyes gazing down, and his mussed hair. He knew at once that he loved Arthur more than anything, more than himself, and that he would do anything for him.

“Take it off,” Arthur ordered.

Merlin had to wrap his head around the fact that words had been spoken before he began to understand what Arthur had said. He scrambled up and pulled his shirt over his head faster than he ever had, judging by the protesting rip of a seam. It mussed his hair. He threw the tunic aside and ran a hand through his hair, wanting it back the way it should be, looking good for Arthur.

“Stop,” Arthur said. He was looking him over and his chest heaved as he took deep breaths. “Take the rest off. I want to see you naked.”

Merlin dumbly stared up at Arthur and felt a deep blush crawling up his chest all the way to his face. His cock throbbed against his breeches at the very way Arthur had spoken those words, like he knew what he wanted.

He lifted a leg and began undoing the laces of his boot, took it off, then pulled down his sock. When he lifted his other leg, Arthur grabbed it and yanked the boot and sock off his foot in one impatient sweep. Merlin bit his lip and leaned back on his elbows when Arthur’s hand clasped around his ankle and held it. He lay perfectly still, waiting for Arthur to decide what he wanted to do.

“Go on,” Arthur said after a while and placed Merlin’s foot back on the bed. His thumb swirled over Merlin’s ankle before he let go.

Merlin wasn’t certain how he was still holding himself together. With trembling fingers he untied his breeches and snaked out of them, certain he looked utterly ridiculous doing so. But whenever he looked at Arthur, at his passionate, wanting gaze, he knew with a certainty that shook him to his core that he would do whatever Arthur wanted. He would give Arthur anything, everything. His whole being.

He sat back against Arthur’s pillow, naked apart from the thin leather bracelet around his wrist, and let Arthur look at him. It titillated him that Arthur was watching. It made him feel desirable and hot. He pulled his knees apart to show all of himself, his erection hard and heavy as it leaned against his belly.

It seemed that Arthur was considering something. “You’re shaven.” His voice was rough.

“Yes,” Merlin said, hoping that he wouldn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t even want to think about Buonamico right now.

Arthur walked to the end of the bed and lifted an arm to hold onto one of the posts. His eyes didn’t leave Merlin once. This way he could look straight at him, see everything.

Merlin swallowed thickly at the picture Arthur made as the morning sun shone on his shoulders and highlighted his hair. And he let himself be watched for what felt like hours instead of minutes, waiting for Arthur’s judgment of him.

“Touch yourself,” Arthur whispered hoarsely.

He gasped and stared at Arthur in surprise. How scandalous. He lowered his right hand and stroked his fingertips up and down over his length. When he saw that Arthur’s eyes were fixed to his activity, he enveloped his cock with all his finger and pulled the skin down.

“Like this?” Merlin asked audaciously.

Arthur swallowed thickly and nodded.

Without thinking, Merlin’s left hand reached over and softly stroked his own sac. He saw how Arthur’s mouth opened in shocked delight, and how his eyes lidded in passionate desire. With slow deliberation, he continued his motions.

Faster than expected, the sweet stimulation began building up. He slowed down and leaned his head back against the headboard. Arthur noticed and their eyes met. Merlin could drown in the lust he saw there. He bit his lower lip and tried to convey the same to him, how much he wanted him. How much he had _always_ wanted him.

Arthur let go of the bedpost.

Merlin held his breath.

With two hands Arthur pulled off his own shirt and tossed it across the room.

Mouth watering, Merlin picked up the pace with his right hand once more, observing Arthur in a way that he had never been allowed before. Arthur’s chest and arms had always been a sight to behold. But today Arthur was showing himself to be looked at, to be admired and revered. And Merlin did all of that, his hand squeezing up and down over his cock, spreading the first few leaking drops out with his thumb. He felt worth all the gold in the kingdom, with Arthur’s eyes on him like that.

Silently, Arthur watched him some more, his own erection left untouched in his breeches. He was only allowing himself to look. Impossibly, it served to turn Merlin on even more. When, at last, Arthur moved his hands to his breeches and began unlacing, Merlin felt his passion grow.

Slowly, but surely, Arthur pushed his breeches down. His cock sprang free. It was long, thick and veined, the darkly coloured head pointed straight at him from a nest of dark blond curls.

Merlin couldn’t help himself. There was simply nothing he could do. He felt his craving take him over, overwhelm him, and before he knew it he was squeezing himself to completion, unable to resist. It crashed through him like a hot wave, taking away all his senses. He barely had enough focus to cup his left hand over himself not to spill onto the sheets. Just for one blissful moment, he let himself enjoy all of it, until he shuddered and groaned and reality hit him.

 _Damn_ , how could he have done that? He eyed Arthur apologetically.

But Arthur seemed unperturbed. He left his spot and returned a moment later with a basin of water and a cloth, offering it wordlessly. Merlin cleaned himself up, unable to look at the prince.

***

Arthur took the cloth and the basin and put them away on the nightstand. He was wound tight like a hot coil after watching Merlin bring himself to completion. He hadn’t been prepared for the surge of ecstatic delight that he would feel after Merlin had decided that seeing him naked was worth climaxing over. It had been beautiful to watch.

A hand on his hip pulled him out of his reverie.

“Please,” Merlin said, looking up at him. His fingers were featherlight, hesitantly stroking his skin. He had crawled to the edge of the bed and looked up at Arthur through his lashes. His mouth was only inches away from Arthur’s throbbing cock.

Arthur sucked in a breath. He didn’t even have to consider if he wanted this. He positioned himself closer to the mattress and ran his fingers through Merlin’s mussed hair.

“Please,” Merlin whispered again, but he didn’t await acknowledgement. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and leaned in to slide his lips over Arthur’s erection.

Arthur tightened the fingers in Merlin’s hair, but then quickly let go. He didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, he held onto the bedpost again for balance and reveled in the feeling of Merlin’s mouth tightly working his cock. It sent ripples of warm, soft, wet sensations to his brain, and made him feel utterly spoiled.

Merlin only took in the head, pulled back, wet his lips with a deliberate roll of his tongue, and leaned in again. His free hand came to rest on the base of Arthur’s cock and gripped hard. A small whimper escaped Merlin when he pushed forward and took Arthur’s length all the way to the back of his throat.

A shudder went through Arthur’s spine. “Slowly,” he urged. He was just about ready to surrender as well. He didn’t want it to end yet.

When Merlin opened his eyes again, they were wet, his lashes clumped. He held Arthur’s gaze as he slid his mouth up and down, ever so slowly.

Arthur was painfully struck by the inescapable beauty Merlin possessed, the brightness of his eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the absolute fairness of his skin.

As Merlin’s pace was steady, it quickly began feeling good, far too good. Arthur’s gasped and placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin let go and instead lowered his head to nuzzle Arthur’s balls.

Arthur hissed when he felt a tongue against his sac, pushing around his balls. It was almost ticklish. His thick, curly hair made a decent attempt to keep the tongue at bay, but Merlin was determined. Of all the attention Arthur had received, no one had ever done this, and Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, apart from indulging shamelessly to this pampering.

Merlin’s tongue pushed, and probed, thick and wet, and licked until Arthur shuddered and groaned. Merlin’s hand gave his cock a single, delightful pull, seemingly knowing exactly how to draw even more pleasure out of him. It was all he wanted, and yet he still craved more.

Merlin glanced up at him, and once more seemed to know exactly what he needed. His mouth opened up again, and he grabbed Arthur’s hips with both hands. Arthur regarded the determination in Merlin’s eyes and the wet shine on his mouth. He couldn’t recall ever seeing anything sexier.

Merlin’s fingers guided Arthur’s hips forward, pushing his cock past his lips again, sliding over his waiting tongue, back into his mouth. Merlin offered him tightness at first that Arthur delighted in pushing into. After several tight pushes, guided by Merlin’s hands, Merlin took him deeper. Unable to stop himself, Arthur moaned aloud and felt the fingers on his hips dig in to yank him forward.

“Fuck,” Arthur swore. It was too much, too fast. “Wait,” he begged. But Merlin set a ruthless pace sucking him, which sent Arthur’s cock to bump against the back of his throat again and again, in a delicious, exhilarating rhythm, which Arthur’s hips soon took over on their own accord.

Small whimpers began escaping Merlin’s throat as he bobbed his head and gripped Arthur’s hips harder, speeding up more.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, “I’m… wait—”

Again, Merlin didn’t listen. Even as Arthur felt his peak coming, Merlin didn’t let go. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hands, but Merlin slid his wrists out of Arthur’s grip, grabbed his arse and yanked Arthur’s hips forward, forcing his length deeper into his throat.

Arthur felt lost, entirely out of control, and the glorious sensation of Merlin sucking him off exploded through him in a burst of pleasure. His hips moved, guided by Merlin’s hands, shoving his length deep and tight, and he felt himself pump his seed deep into that darkness. And it was perfect.

With a shudder and a groan he pulled back, slowly coming to terms with what he had just done. Merlin let go of his arse and leaned back on the sheets, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, and eyeing Arthur with a satisfied, filthy leer.

He looked Merlin over, at his pale limbs sprawled out over the royal sheets, while he sorted the events in his mind. Arthur felt proud that he had taken these steps and that Merlin had seemed assentive. The room was warm and smelled of sex. Instead of a quick gathering of skirts, or breeches in this case, Merlin seemed entirely satisfied to linger in Arthur’s bed. Perhaps because he worked here or because he was waiting for Arthur to tell him to get dressed. He had half a mind to, until he saw that Merlin was fully hard. Again.

He raised a brow and looked at Merlin, who had the decency to blush sheepishly. Though Arthur felt sated, the invitation was impossible to resist. He reached over and trailed his fingers over Merlin’s knee, up to the soft skin of his inner thigh where hairs were sparse.

As if an order had been given, Merlin’s head fell back against the pillow and he lifted his arms over his head in a move to both comply and relish.

Arthur kneeled on the bed, trailing small circles with his finger over Merlin’s skin. He could hardly believe that it should feel as soft as a woman’s. And as inviting. Merlin spread his knees hopefully and writhed. It was as though they hadn’t even started yet, Arthur thought. How could he have that much energy to go on?

Merlin looked back at him with lidded eyes and dark, swollen lips. The rosy colour on his cheeks was kept alive by the deep breaths he was taking in his anticipation. Arthur thought about the sketches he had seen. Not even Buonamico’s finest drawings matched Merlin’s beauty as he lay unfolded, submissive, and expectant, waiting purely for him. It was bliss.

At last, he reached out and touched Merlin’s cock. Although it was the first time he touched an erect member apart from his own, he was struck by a sense of familiarity. It felt like he would feel. He wrapped his fingers around it and stroked up and down, feeling skin slide over hardness, and sensing the familiar twitch when he paused.

He let go and tested the feeling of Merlin’s sac, curious and persistent, breaking down whatever barriers there might be. All shaven, it felt immensely soft.

“Mmmm,” Merlin moaned, lightly bucking against the sheets.

Merlin’s trust in him was absolute, Arthur knew. He let him play with him like this. It gave Arthur a sense of dominion, but he knew it wasn’t like that. It would never be like that with Merlin. As much as Merlin pretended to submit, he would reverse the roles just as quickly as well.

“Aahn,” Merlin sighed, when Arthur’s hand had come back up to stroke Merlin’s dick, and he threw his head back into the pillow.

He was shocked by the strong claim he felt to Merlin’s pleasure. This time it wasn’t Buonamico treating Merlin to that, but him. He climbed over him and kept his hand moving. He vaguely wondered if the way they looked together was in anyway as enticing as the visions he had enjoyed from the auditorium.

He couldn’t linger on those thoughts. Instead he focused on the small, sweet sounds Merlin was making under Arthur’s ministrations.

***

Merlin bit down on his lip to stifle his whimpers, but Arthur’s fingers stroking his length were posing a real challenge to his resolve. He felt wilder than he had ever dared, parting his legs further to invite Arthur closer, hoping, pleading. Anything. Everything.

Arthur’s free hand came to rest against the back of his leg and pushed it out even further, widening his position and laying even more claim to his body. Merlin looked up at Arthur’s glorious figure. Tentatively he lifted a hand and waited for Arthur to dismiss it.

The gesture was ignored, in favour of Arthur leaning down to nuzzle Merlin’s chest, smelling his skin and testing the quality of his chest hair. Arthur worked his way slowly across Merlin’s figure, peppering him with kisses, worshipping his skin. Pleasure rippled along Merlin’s body, heightening with each sensation until his toes curled. No longer fearing Arthur’s reaction, Merlin reached out.

He stroked Arthur’s hair and his shoulders, wondering what he had ever done to deserve something so divine and flawless. His heart swelled with wistful longing for him, as though none of it were real. Except that it was. Arthur’s body was so close, he could already imagine what it would like to be fucked.

He couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing if Arthur would ever be willing to do that, to fully lay his claim. “Arthur…” he whispered between deep breaths.

As though he had summoned Arthur with his soft whisper, the prince surged up to seal his mouth with an open-mouthed kiss, filthy, wet, and hot. Merlin groaned loudly into Arthur’s mouth, overcome with pleasure. The fingers around Merlin’s cock pulled long and tight and drew him to his second peak, hips bucking up in unison, fucking Arthur’s hand. Merlin forgot to breathe, his body jerked, and he was coming again, through Arthur’s fingers, altogether slain by the force of Arthur’s kiss.

Collapsing into a boneless heap, Merlin drew Arthur to him and held on for all he was worth.


	11. The Great Test

Geoffrey of Monmouth sat sour-faced at the large desk at the head of the suffocatingly warm library. Arthur was seated at a significantly smaller desk opposite, with a pile of papers in front of him. The library was bright. All curtains had been opened and the sun did its work warming up the dust from rarely touched bookshelves. The musty tang to the air made Arthur’s nose hurt.

In the corner of the room, near the door, Merlin stood. He had been sent out but had rejected Geoffrey’s words on the basis that Arthur would need to get dressed for training as soon as the test was over. There was, after all, a siege in preparation.

Arthur knew better. He had promised Merlin that he could speak to Buonamico after the test, to settle his affairs once and for all. While it still wrung a twist in Arthur’s heart, he had secretly been thrilled that Merlin had chosen _him_ over the charming, eloquent painter.

Even as Geoffrey handed Arthur his test, and the anticipation created a thick lump in Arthur’s throat, he knew that Merlin wouldn’t let him out of his sight. Not after what they had just shared. He felt Merlin’s presence both physically and mentally, and his heart was light. The test had of loosely hand-written text on thick paper, that made Arthur’s eyes water at a glance. Even as he squinted to make sense of the first words, he knew that Merlin was watching him, supporting him in this.

Vague noises drifting up from the courtyard, of shouting men and chatting women, all coordinating the preparations for King Beroun’s imminent arrival. The Saxons would be at Camelot’s doorstep any day now.

Arthur felt bitter about his test. If his father hadn’t been so adamant to rein him in and teach him a public lesson, Arthur would be out there right now, pulling his weight.

Merlin had assured him that performing this test had a calming effect on the people as well. They followed orders in a calm and collected way. If Arthur had time for a test, then they had time to prepare. Then he had kissed him and told him all would be well. It would have been absurd, receiving comfort from his own servant, had it not been absolutely necessary for Arthur to function.

Under scrutiny from strict pairs of eyes, one malevolent and the other benevolent, Arthur began writing down the answers to his test with furious scribbles of his white quill.

The test was long and expansive. Minutes felt like hours, and Arthur’s hand began to cramp. Words and letters danced on the paper and made him doubt his answers more than once. The only sound breaking Arthur from his concentration was the rumbling cough Geoffrey spewed forward across his desk from time to time.

Merlin was impeccably quiet, seemingly considering something that sent his gaze miles into the distance. Every so often, Arthur would glance at him, wondering what was on his mind. He felt that he had a right to know, after what they had done. The right was stamped onto Merlin’s bare neck for all to witness, new marks now joining the fading ones.

When Arthur turned one of the pages and was tasked to identify several Saxon sigils, his eye fell on one in particular. He wasn’t certain if he had ever seen this in his history books, but the hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

He knew this sigil.

He had seen it before. It was the same symbol as was printed on the bag in Buonamico’s private stash.

Arthur abruptly stood up, sweat pooling in the back of his shirt. “Merlin!”

“My lord?” Geoffrey spat incredulously. “Are you done with your test already?”

Within seconds, Merlin had sped to his side, alarmed at Arthur’s sudden outburst.

Panic crawled down Arthur’s spine. “The guard we found last night, do you remember his wounds?”

“Yes, I examined the body with Gaius. He was stabbed with tw—”

“Two daggers? Like this?” Arthur held up the paper from the test.

Geoffrey climbed out of his large chair. “My lord, I must formally object to this interruption. I shall have your servant escorted outside.”

“What is it?” Merlin asked hastily, ignoring Geoffrey’s approach for as long as he could.  

Arthur balled his fist. “Buonamico carried a bag with this sigil among his belongings. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. The sigil, it belongs to the _Saxons_.”

Merlin took the piece of paper out of Arthur’s hand and studied it. A dissatisfied frown lingered on his face. “Two daggers. Then Mico killed our guard after all?”

“No. But I can tell you who did,” Arthur said and sped to the door, pointedly ignoring Merlin’s nickname for his former lover. He opened the door and stepped into the cool relief of the castle corridors.

“My lord!” Geoffrey barked indignantly. “Your test!”

“Blast your test! We have a Saxon spy inside Camelot! And the siege will be at our door within days!”

While Geoffrey gaped in astonishment, Merlin was already at Arthur’s side, breathing, “You believe me then?”

Arthur snorted. “Let’s face it, Merlin, Buonamico couldn’t harm a fly.”

Merlin smiled brilliantly at him and nodded. “Yes, sire.”

The lightness in his heart lifted him up and gave him courage. And perhaps that was the only explanation for his timely action.

The only reason they survived.

Everything went dark.

The world toppled and turned to ash for all his senses. Something slammed into his side hard. He spread his arms and discovered that it was the ground. Merlin was beside him, coughing.

As the ash and dust settled, Merlin was on his feet before Arthur was and pushed the library doors closed. He lifted the wooden beam and by the time he needed to slot it into place, Arthur was there to help him.

“What was that?” Geoffrey asked.

Arthur’s battle instinct kicked in. “We’re under attack from within. Geoffrey, take your keys and go out the back door. Have the guards ring the alarm bell.” He looked Merlin over. As the blast had come their way, Arthur had felt it, rather than seen it. He had pushed Merlin and himself back into the library as soon as he could. The blast had only narrowly missed them.

“Attack?” Geoffrey asked obtusely.

“The Saxon spy is…” Merlin grasped.

“...King Beroun himself,” Arthur finished. “Run!” he shouted to Geoffrey.

At last, the old man caught on and he made his way to the back of the library as quick as his feet could carry him.

A chant was heard, spoken low in the distance. The air around the closed library door became thick and heavy.

“Arthur, get back!” Merlin hissed and pulled Arthur away from the door. Arthur’s mind complied before his feet did, and he nearly stumbled in their quick escape. They hurried down an aisle and hid.

Moments later, the doors were blasted open with a deafening force.

“It was all a diversion,” Arthur said from behind the first few rows of bookcases. “Buonamico snuck him in and tried to leave.”

“Shh,” Merlin urged. He looked around the room and listened while the dust and loose papers settled around them.

“Arthur Pendragon!” a foreign voice called. “I know you are in here!”

All the way at the back of the library a door slammed shut.

“You cannot escape me!” The Saxon king obviously believed that Arthur had made his escape. He broke into a run through the aisle, revealing his intentions of hunting the prince down.

Merlin and Arthur watched him pass from their hiding place. King Beroun was a towering, bald man with a sharp nose. He wore a combination of hardened leather armour and fur and carried two sheathed daggers on his belt. He was decorated with a variety of chains, rings, and a large belt buckle with a Saxon symbol. The same sigil as on the test.

Arthur clambered to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Merlin hissed and grabbed Arthur’s wrist.

“I can’t let him kill Geoffrey,” Arthur grumbled. “I’m not a coward.”

“You are unarmed!” Merlin’s eyes were wide.

“I believe it’s me you are looking for!” Arthur called out, his voice echoing through the large halls. He stepped out into the alley and made himself visible to his opponent. He was excited for battle, but scared as well. This man’s magic was formidable. The patrol’s warnings hadn’t been wrong.

King Beroun paused his steps and slowly turned around. He eyed Arthur up and down. “You are Arthur?”

“ _Prince_ Arthur, if we’re to be formal about it.”

Merlin kneeled by the bookcase and peered between the shelves.

“Your stain on this land is soon of little consequence, _Prince_ Arthur,” Beroun spat.

Arthur glared at him. “You mean _our_ land. Do not think for a second that you stand a chance against Camelot.”

Beroun chuckled and held out his hands. “You may tame their swords, but there is nothing you can do against me!” He drew energy to him. Bookcases creaked and curtains billowed. Around him, loose pieces of papers began to flutter and respond to his will.

Arthur felt the fear prickle at the back of his mind. His hands were like ice, and his legs urged him to run, but he stayed put. He widened his stance as his only response to the man’s display of power. “Wrong again, though I don’t blame you. How could you know, after all?” Arthur kept his voice light and jovial.

“What are you doing?!” Merlin hissed.

The moment the alarm bells began to ring, Arthur jumped aside and ran between the bookcases to the next aisle. He heard Merlin following nearby.

Instead of hiding, Arthur paused in the next aisle and waited for Beroun to show.

“ _Arthur!_ ” Merlin’s whispers were becoming more insistent.

“You are too late!” Arthur shouted and he saw King Beroun appear. “The castle is alerted to your presence now. If you surrender peacefully, you may expect a swift execution,” he suggested to the man with a smile.

“You will not mock me again!” Beroun shouted and hurled a fireball in Arthur’s direction.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him back between the cases. The fireball crashed loudly into the wall behind them, sending rogue flames and cinders everywhere. He fell over from the blast, sprawled on top of Merlin.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Merlin shouted.

“The guards will be here soon.” He pulled himself to his feet once more.

But Merlin didn’t let him go this time, gripping Arthur’s arm hard, and pleaded, “He’s too powerful. He will destroy anyone that walks through that door!”

Arthur cupped Merlin’s face and stared at him. “I know.” Slowly, he pulled his arm back. “We are not going to let that happen.”

“You are trapped!” Beroun called out.

“On the contrary!” Arthur called out and maneuvered between the cases, staying low. “It is you who is trapped!”

They heard footsteps. It was hard to establish where Beroun was exactly. Arthur’s heart was in his throat. Around him, the cinders were settling down on dry old papers, setting them ablaze. Around them, pillars of smoke were making their way towards the ceiling. The old books just lay about, waiting to be consumed forever.

A fireball flew over their heads and crashed into the wall some way behind them. “Give up, Arthur Pendragon!”

“You could have done a better job than hire Buonamico. He gave a good show, but not good enough. He hardly convinced me!”

A roar from the other side of the room. Footsteps came in their direction faster. The alarm bells made it difficult to hear. Shouts from the courtyard added to that. Arthur lost sight of Beroun and hunched down at last.

“Arthur!” Merlin hissed, exasperated. He jumped over a pile of books that was quickly catching fire. “Stop this madness!”

“Who is that with you? I can hear you.” The man’s deep voice echoed through the room. The smoke became thicker by the second.

Arthur saw Beroun appear from the other end of the bookcases and stood still. He faced the man by standing tall and showing no fear. He always did the same for his knights, who were trained for battle. Even if he was scared to the bone.

The truth was, this might be the hardest thing he had ever done.

He put on a smile and gestured to Merlin. “Oh him? Just Camelot’s best kept secret.” His heart clenched as he glanced sideways to where Merlin stood pressed against the side of a bookcase. He needed to see the truth there.

But Merlin wasn’t meeting his gaze. His fists were clenched and his mouth was set in an angry grimace.

As impossible at it seemed, Arthur had no time for Merlin’s misery. “Not so secret anymore. In fact, he is the one you should be worried about,” Arthur said.

In a sudden burst of wind, Arthur was blown off his feet. Cases toppled, books flew everywhere, loose papers launched into the air in all directions. Arthur was pushed back and hit the ground. He thought all the air would be forced out of his lungs, until suddenly all the wind was gone. Around him pieces of paper fluttered down as though they were leaves of a great white tree.

That’s when Arthur knew.

The golden powder had shown him this before. The blessed light, the square leaves surrounding Merlin the sorcerer.

Merlin the warrior.

He lifted his head, fighting through the sharp pain that tore through his body. Merlin stood between them, with his hand stretched out to Beroun. From the windows high up, the sun shone down on him. In a vague play of light, it almost looked like Merlin was surrounded by gold. Just as soon as he saw it, it was gone.

“You cannot stop me!” Beroun called and lifted his hands. He began chanting in a tongue Arthur didn’t recognize, spewing loud and thick syllabled words.

Worried, Merlin shot Arthur a glance over his shoulder. His eyes were wet and his bottom lip trembled.

By himself, Arthur had never stood a chance. His words were the greatest treason, Arthur knew. They were also the only way out. “I order you, Merlin. Guard Camelot. Protect the books, our knowledge. At all cost.” His shirt was torn and singed, one of his ribs hurt, but Arthur kept his composure.

Merlin was still stunned. He seemed to be ignoring the Saxon King’s casting. The air around Beroun began gathering velocity. A vaguely blueish vortex appeared above his head, thick with magical power. Lightning surrounded the man, cracking menacingly.

Arthur sat up, painfully, and met Merlin’s eyes. “Please, there is no time,” he said. “The guards will come…” They would be rallied up soon and force their way into the library. If they did, they would perish all at Beroun’s hands, since Merlin couldn’t possibly do magic in front of them.

Slowly, Merlin’s mouth closed and he turned around to face Beroun. His stance changed. He stood upright, rigid. With only two words, a bubble spread from Merlin across the room in a fresh tickling wind. The fires around them were doused and the cinders turned to ashes at once. Smoke twirled aimlessly through the room.

Beroun completed his casting spell, unperturbed by the magic Merlin had performed. He was confident and menacing. With a roar, he held out his hands towards Merlin and released the blue vortex with a deafening force. Around it, the lightning crackled, its blue-white fingers reaching out  for Merlin at high speed.

Merlin took two steps towards it and jumped, shouting unknown words which revealed a brightness surrounding him. With a swish of his arms, he instantly took the vortex and all its explosive power and forced it straight down towards the ground.

The heavy stone tiles cracked and broke apart, and the ground quaked while the powerful storm was stuffed down by the force of Merlin’s magic. As Merlin shouted, the vortex was disappearing underground, it’s destructive energy consumed by the force of Camelot’s stone foundations. Around Merlin, a golden aura appeared, almost impossible to see, containing the violent electrical force within.

Within moments, it had disappeared, and nothing but a deep tremble remained, shaking walls and books and upsetting dust on untouched shelves.  

“Impossible!” Beroun called out. “No one can stop my magic!”

Arthur held his breath. Not only was Merlin resourceful, he was also fast. As though he was just as much at home on the battlefield as Arthur was.

“I haven’t stopped it,” Merlin said hoarsely. He dusted off his jacket and collected himself. “Just given it a new direction.”

“What?!” Beroun shouted, aghast. He glared at Merlin and slid his daggers from their sheaths. He held them out to Merlin and took a menacing step forward. But before he could move, four transparent golden shield walls appeared around Beroun which he couldn’t break through. “You think you can trap me?”

“Those aren’t for you,” Merlin explained with a dark tone to his voice. A rumble began to surge at their feet, getting louder by the moment. “You are already dead!”

Arthur had no time to be shocked by the anger he heard in Merlin’s voice, because the ground under their feet began to rumble. Merlin lifted his arm. Instantly, the ground below Beroun exploded into a whirlwind of stone, rock, and earth, propelled by the blue, electric vortex that responded to Merlin’s command.

Merlin’s shout filled the air as he controlled the attack, both arms stretched out in front of him.

Within moments there was little more left of King Beroun than an eviscerated body lying in a puddle of blood. The attack had sprayed spatters of blood across both of them. The library itself remained mostly intact.

As the violence died down and the thick clouds of smoke, dust and power settled, Arthur noticed Beroun’s bloodied knives as well as the Saxon belt buckle, lying on the ground next to the body.

The doors to the library were pushed further open when the guards streamed in, holding up a row of shields penetrated only by spears. They advanced slowly through the smoky air and treaded carefully through the ashes.

Merlin collapsed onto the floor and rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling without blinking.

“Merlin!” Arthur called out and forced himself to get up. His rib was sore, but not broken. He struggled to breathe. “Merlin, please…”

“Prince Arthur?” one of the guards called.

“Over here!” Arthur said. He pocketed the buckle and picked up Beroun’s daggers. His hands became dirty and sticky with warm blood, which dripped over his clothes. He tumbled forward, shoving fallen books aside, and knelt beside Merlin. His heart skipped a beat when Merlin didn’t move at all.

“Where is the sorcerer, sire?”

Arthur leaned over and reached out to stroke Merlin’s face with his fingertips. “Merlin?”

Sluggishly, Merlin blinked, but he didn’t return Arthur’s look.

“Has he hurt you?” Arthur asked, looking him over for wounds. He saw none, though Merlin’s clothes were torn in several places.

A lethargic snort. “No.”

When the guards spotted them and the bloodied mess that surrounded them, they rushed over. Anything Arthur might want to say was drowned out by the tidal wave of questions that followed.

“Gently!” Arthur called out when they hoisted him to his feet. He placed a hand on his rib to feel around and tried very hard not to cough.

“What happened, sire?” one of the guards asked. “Is that King Beroun? Is he dead?”

Arthur looked at the pool of the blood around King Beroun and sighed. “Yes.”

“Stop the alarm bells!” the captain of the guard ordered.

“Yes, sir,” a young guard nodded and ran out.

“What’s up with him?” a third guard with a thick moustache asked.

“He’s in shock,” Arthur offered. “You, go alert my father. You there, see if Geoffrey is well. You, announce to the knight’s quarters that they will train without me this afternoon. The rest of you, begin clearing this up. Immediately!” Before any of the guards could complain, Arthur dismissed them all.

“Yes, my lord,” the captain said.

The guard with the moustache began forcefully hauling Merlin up. Little respect was offered to Merlin’s injuries.

Arthur stepped in and put an arm around Merlin’s chest, supporting him. “I’ll look after him.” He knew how it was. Merlin would be kicked out the door as soon as the guards took over.

The captain gave them both a curious look. “Where are you going, sire?”

“To Gaius, obviously,” Arthur barked. “Tell everyone to keep working on fortifications. Is Sir Leon back yet from patrol?”

“No, sire. A day’s travel away, according to our latest patrol.”  

“Good, we need him here. Alert my father! Camelot isn’t safe yet!”

“Yes, sire!” several men called out and set to work.

***

Merlin felt himself being walked out of the library, Arthur’s strong arm around him. Once outside the door he pulled back and let go. He pulled the sleeves of his shirt straight and composed himself. It felt as though a gaping hole burned empty in his chest. Arthur’s gaze upon him was serious.

Arthur had known about his _magic_. He couldn’t fathom how.

More guards were approaching the library. Before they would be noticed, Arthur quickly dragged him through a servant corridor.

“This is not the way to Gaius,” Merlin croaked.

“No, it’s not,” Arthur said. The way he held his hand across his ribs worried Merlin, but he was too dazed to comment. “It’s the way to the dungeons.”

Merlin pulled his hand back, wounded by Arthur’s words. Everything was over now. His heart felt broken beyond repair. “That’s it then?”

All the light in his world seemed to be faded now. The corridor was cool and dark, their only company a faded tapestry. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. If he was thrown in the dungeons, his end would come sooner than Buonamico’s, that was for certain.

Arthur paused and turned to him. “What? _You_ were the one wanting to talk to him.”

“Right now?” Merlin asked, uncertain what Arthur was getting at.

“Before my father decides to interrogate him, yes. There won’t be a quiet moment for days after that, trust me.”

Days? Merlin’s head spun. So he wasn’t to be thrown in the dungeons? “What about—?”

Arthur stepped up, nose to nose. “What _about_ your loyalty to Camelot? That’s not being questioned here, Merlin. Do you understand me?”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurted out. He looked up, trying to keep himself together. “I’m sorry that—”

“They’re gone,” Arthur said, staring to his neck. “The marks.”

Merlin huffed. How could those possibly be more important than what he was going to say? “Arthur, I’m trying to—”

He was silenced by Arthur’s mouth against his, fierce and insistent. His heart leapt and brain turned to mush. Merlin kissed him back with a desperate urgency that tugged at his insides, grabbing hold of him and feeling Arthur wrap himself around him as well. Within moments they were both lost in the sensation.

Arthur’s hands were holding and kneading his shoulders, while Merlin’s arms pulled Arthur’s hips against his.

All he could think about was that Arthur wasn’t angry, wouldn’t report him. He still wanted him. He helplessly fell even more in love, almost frightened by it intensity. Heat surged through Merlin’s body as though they hadn’t already had sex that morning.

“Mmmf,” Arthur complained. He took a step back, breaking their kiss, and held his ribs again. His expression looked pained.

“Do you want me to look at that?” Merlin offered, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

“Not now,” Arthur said and continued towards the dungeons.

Merlin bit back all his questions and forced his heart to calm as they descended the steps.  Arthur’s back looked sore, and he was walking oddly. Merlin would have to send him to Gaius or tend to him personally. He couldn’t possibly defend Camelot during the upcoming siege this way.

They descended the dungeons, which were quiet now that the guards had been called to attend the library. Down in one of the lowest cells, Buonamico sat on a small stool in the corner of the dungeon, with his face turned towards the small ray of light that penetrated the window.

Merlin paused and observed him.

“I’ll wait here,” Arthur whispered, standing so close their bodies nearly touched. A warm hand rested on Merlin’s side, squeezing gently, and a kiss was planted on his shoulder. Then Arthur turned back to the hall.

He was infinitely grateful for Arthur’s gentle gesture, offering him some time alone. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and he needed to do it on his own terms.

He took a few steps forwards. Even though he knew what he was going to say, he wasn’t prepared for the absolutely brilliant smile Buonamico greeted him with. He gulped and sensed intuitively that Buonamico wasn’t evil. And yet, what he had done could not be forgiven.

“Merlin, I heard such noises! What happened?” Buonamico leapt to the bars and grabbed them. In his eyes there was longing.

“You are not the man I thought you were,” Merlin said and frowned. “You let him in, didn’t you?”

“You have blood on you,” Buonamico remarked. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “I’m beginning to see what your plan was now. King Uther’s money would pay for the Saxon war. You would let King Beroun inside and he would _slaughter everyone!_ ” He hadn’t intended for his voice to rise, but he felt venomous.

“No!” Buonamico said. “Nothing like that! You have to believe me.”

“I know that it wasn’t you who killed the guard,” Merlin sighed. “There is that at least.”

Buonamico sighed. His hair was loose without the black ribbon to hold it back and fell in loose curls around his face. “The guard was unexpected. Beroun promised that no one except the royal family will die.”

“So you agreed to that?” Merlin spat, feeling angrier than he expected. If Buonamico’s whole design had been to kill Uther, Morgana and Arthur, he definitely didn’t deserve to live.

“No!”

“Did you think Camelot would simply roll over and accept a Saxon King?” he shouted angrily.

“I had no choice! Merlin, listen to me.” Buonamico spoke fast, his accent more heavy. “You must see. My hand was forced in this. My life, my family’s life. Beroun can be merciful. Please, do not go against him. Please, Merlin.” True fear showed in his eyes, and he reached out through the bars.

Merlin took a step back, his heart torn. “You have underestimated Camelot. You have brought forward the deepest secrets. And you must pay for that.”

“Everything I told you was true, Merlin. I wanted to take you away with me, I swear it.”

He shook his head. “My place is here. You serve no house, so you wouldn’t understand.”

A familiar, easy grin. “I understand more than you think, sweet Merlin. I know where your heart lies. I’ve been thinking a lot down here.”

“You don’t know anything,” Merlin countered, embarrassed that his love had been so clear for Buonamico to see.

“Don’t I? There has been much time for me put the pieces together. Only me and these dark walls, after all. The only thing I don’t understand… is how did Prince Arthur know about the powder?”

Merlin blinked at him. Now that he thought about it, there were several things Arthur seemed to know. He had recognized the Saxon sigils on Buonamico’s bags—just in time as well. He had known about Morgana’s secret. He also knew about Merlin’s magic. But how? He glared at Buonamico. He could have told Arthur, after all. “Did you use the powder on your drawings of me?”

Buonamico chuckled wistfully. “No. You took them, didn’t you? So that I would never find out that you love him. Honestly, that only made it more clear.”

He felt a shiver running down his spine, and whispered, “I didn’t take them.” Then who did?

“Hmm,” Buonamico said and sighed deeply. “I never meant for them to get into the wrong hands. I only wanted to free my sisters.”

“And now my secret is at risk!”

Buonamico leaned his face against the cool bars and looked sad. “I will ask Beroun to destroy the powder for you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Merlin spun around to Arthur, who stood in the opening to the hall.

“King Beroun is slain.”

Buonamico instantly took a step back from the bars and frowned at Arthur. “How? It’s impossible! Is this a trick?”

“Oh, I assure you this is no trick,” Arthur said and stepped up to Merlin, eyeing him impatiently. He turned to Buonamico and held out something in his hand. “Here’s proof.”

Merlin stared at the Saxon belt buckle. In the distance he heard footsteps descending the dungeons. Their time was up.

“How? This man is so powerful, he is almost immortal!”

“Almost,” Merlin echoed absentmindedly. He felt a hand rest on the back of his neck. Arthur’s claim over him. And he was ready to submit to him. He couldn’t bear the thought of lingering in Buonamico’s presence, recalling all they had shared and all that they had withheld from one another. He was Arthur’s, to the bone.

He also knew that Buonamico wouldn’t have made these decisions in a thousand years, had he not been held under threat. He had to make a decision, fast.

“We’ve got to go,” Arthur told him, ignoring Buonamico’s inquiry. “You go ahead. Prepare a bath and some linen to dress my wounds.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me! What’s to become of me?” Buonamico fell to his knees and looked up at the both of them.

“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, making his choice, “I believe his hand was forced.”

“Go now,” Arthur said. “There is still a siege coming our way. I will make my decision.”


	12. Lost and Found

Merlin waited in Arthur’s chambers for over an hour. He had the bath ready and spent the rest of the time sweeping the hearth, cleaning out the chamberpot, and repairing his armour. When Arthur finally arrived, he dropped the working tool on the table and stood up.

Arthur looked exhausted and sore. He closed the door quietly, and the torn shirt over his back revealed patches of caked blood over scratched skin. The hand that covered his rib reminded Merlin that the climb up to the room must have been hard.

Merlin felt a thick lump in his throat. Despite his urgency for answers, he approached Arthur and began undoing his shirt. The motions came more easily than he had expected. He could do this.

Arthur complied, eyeing the bath wearily. “Where are the bandages?”

“Turn around,” Merlin said without thinking, and added, “Sire.” His hands never left Arthur, while he examined the scratches. He paused and waited for further permission, eyeing Arthur’s regal profile. He received a quiet nod and continued. Carefully, he peeled Arthur’s shirt off, ensuring never to let the fabric touch his wounds. He concluded that the scratches were only superficial.

His fingers traced Arthur’s ribs and found the bruise. Blood was swelling on the location and it would hurt a lot more in the coming hours. Arthur wouldn’t be able to swing a sword this way.

“I can treat this… Do you trust me?” The words were out before he felt their weight on his soul.

“You know the answer to that question yourself,” Arthur said gruffly.

Merlin felt the calm tremors of Arthur’s voice through the fingers lying on his ribs, a curious joy surging all the way to his toes. “Then I must be asking the wrong questions,” he retorted. He had so many questions to ask. He simply couldn’t put the pieces together.

He held up his hand and placed it flat on Arthur’s back, right over the bruise, and summoned his magic. It came to him, just as powerful as before. It was happy and delighted, bringing the light back into Merlin’s world. It cleared his mind of dark thoughts. He simply couldn’t remain disturbed by the events, and his worry fled from him. His magic followed the invitation to his hand and focused at his fingertips. He felt it seek purpose.

It flowed into Arthur’s body, with the same happiness coursing through it, and began healing the painful, swollen areas inside, as well as the skin on his back.

After a few moments Arthur flexed his arm and took a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed and he turned to Merlin. His expression was curious and soft. “Have you always been able to do this?”

“Yes,” Merlin said hoarsely.

Arthur puzzled for a moment. “Why didn’t you use it after our battles? In secret?”

He frowned. “Who says I haven’t?” He felt a thick lump in his throat. “Did Buonamico tell you?”

Arthur seemed to consider something and then shook his head. He turned around and locked eyes with Merlin. “A couple of days ago I had something important to tell you.” He looked Merlin over and parted his lips, but again he couldn’t finish his sentence.

Then it dawned on him. “It was you! You took them!”

The guilty look on Arthur’s face as he searched for words confirmed it.

Merlin took several steps back and flung his arms in exasperation. “Why? I mean how did you even know? How did you know about me and Buonamico? About the sigils, Morgana’s magic, the powder, the sketches? About me? You were always posing for the portrait, studying and doing your write-ups!”

Arthur stepped away and passed the bath on his way to look out the window.

“Arthur?!” Merlin called out, trying to prevent his escape. He had no right to call out the Prince of Camelot this way, but he felt that he had a right to answers.

Instead of replying, Arthur pressed his mother’s ring to his mouth.

“Arthur, did you take the sketches?” Merlin demanded gruffly. “Did you use the powder?”

His brow furrowed and he took a deep sigh. “I _had_ to protect Camelot, I had to see for myself if there was any danger.”

Merlin glared at him, outraged. “So you just… went and saw my secrets? You used something magical?” He could hardly believe that Arthur would resort to that. He found it even harder to believe that Arthur would steal the sketches out of Buonamico’s room. A small voice told him that at least the sketches would be safe, for now, not to be seen by anyone else.

Arthur turned to him. “I saw something that had been hidden from me. And I saw that you would never harm anyone. That you are true in your heart. Is that not worth something?”

“That doesn’t give you the right to—”

“You clean my _chamberpot_ , when you are… THIS powerful! I don’t understand. I had to figure it out.”

Merlin bit his retort back and glared.

Arthur wasn’t done. “You’ve kept this secret. From everyone. I understand. But why do you put up with all of this?” He approached Merlin, more inquisitive than upset.

“You mean with you?” Merlin challenged him. If it was to come to a battle of wills, he was ready. “Didn’t you see that with the powder already?”

Arthur measured him up, looking straight at him and seemed to consider something. His mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed. Merlin steeled himself, puffing his chest out, and met his gaze without wavering. At last, Arthur looked down and scratched the back of his neck.

“The auditorium.”

“What?” Merlin was lost.

“I studied at the auditorium… above the library. It has high windows that can’t be reached… unless you climb onto a table.” He clearly had trouble finding his words.  

“And?”

“And… I stood on the table.”

He really wasn’t helping, Merlin concluded. But apparently this was important, because Arthur stared at him as if he would figure it out by himself. He thought about the auditorium, and about the windows. They didn’t let in much light because they were connected to—

“The guest room,” Merlin concluded. His heart beat thick against his ribs. Not once, but twice his privacy had been invaded. “You watched us?”

“Yes!” Arthur said, relieved that Merlin had got it at last.

“When?” Merlin asked hoarsely. Instead of meeting Arthur’s eyes he vaguely stared at Arthur’s bare chest.

“Every night,” Arthur said. He had the decency to look apologetic.

Merlin simply gaped at him. He thought back to everything he’d shared with Buonamico. Drinking the king’s fine wine and posing naked. He felt his cheeks heat. Arthur had been watching all the time? Even when they had sex? His stomach twisted and his head reeled. “But why?” he asked.

“Because!” Arthur said vehemently, agitated that apparently Merlin still didn’t get the point. “Because you are my aesthetic.” He stepped forward, reaching out for him.

Merlin took a step back and glared. It didn’t seem to work on Arthur, who pursued him. Another two steps had Merlin with his back against the wall and Arthur against him. Merlin pulled his head back and leaned it against the brick wall.

Arthur’s blue eyes were so intense, his perfect jaw was set, and his lips were just waiting to be kissed. His bare chest was more delicious, all solid and powerful muscle, than it had any right to be. “I broke Camelot law for you today,” he argued and stared pointedly at Merlin’s lips.

“I’m still mad,” Merlin said, annoyed at how meek his own voice was. He couldn’t help it. Arthur was gorgeous and forcefully pressed his hips up against him. “I don’t want you to break any laws… I…” He was lost, feeling blood flow to all the right places, leaving his mind numb and empty.  

Arthur snorted and pressed his body further against him. “Would you have guarded Camelot today if I hadn’t charged you to do it?”

“Mmm,” he whimpered. Why was it so easy to forgive him? Even if he was being a condescending arse. Instead of glaring at him, Merlin found that his hands were exploring Arthur’s chest, and instead of shouting at him, his lips sought Arthur’s for a kiss.

Arthur kissed him sloppy and rough, just the way Merlin loved it. One of his hands dove under Merlin’s shirt to seek skin.

The alarm bells suddenly interrupted them. They clanged loudly and were soon joined by the other towers. Footsteps were heard rushing through the hall, and loud voices joined.

Arthur took a step back and recomposed himself.

“Prince Arthur!” the captain of the guard called through the door.

Merlin escaped to the other end of the room, flustered and hard.

“Enter!” Arthur bellowed.

Several guards burst into his chambers. “My lord, we’ve only just found out. The prisoner, Buonamico, has escaped!”

“What? That’s impossible!” Arthur shouted. “He must have had an accomplice!”

The guards looked at each other stupidly. “We’ve no idea. We are searching the castle now.”

“Beroun must have freed him before the attack. If you find him, let him live. I have some questions for him,” Arthur demanded.

Merlin shot Arthur a sideways glance. That didn’t make sense at all. They had seen Buonamico in the dungeons after Beroun’s death. He kept his thoughts to himself while the guards made to leave.

“Will you join the patrols, my lord?” the captain of the guards asked.

“No, I’ve been injured in battle today against King Beroun. Your men are following my explicit orders what to do with him, are they not?”

“Yes, of course,” he said and clicked his heels.

“Carry on,” Arthur instructed.

“Yes, sire,” the captain said shooed the men back out. They slammed the door shut behind them and the captain barked orders to his companions.

Merlin stared at Arthur as he walked to the door and locked it. He noticed the small smile at the corner of Arthur’s mouth and the relief clear in his face. He lifted an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“I believe I broke the law again.” Arthur looked at him from the corner of his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “You would have let him go too, wouldn’t you?”

“But…” Merlin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I gave him the belt buckle as a symbol with which he can free his sisters. The bargain was that he would leave all his paints and materials behind, as well as my father’s coin and Morgana’s jewellery. He should be far away by now.”

“What about the secrets?” Merlin felt emotions welling up within him. Arthur had made this gesture, but had it been for Merlin or because he believed it? Buonamico would be safe, but would he be safe too?

“He told me a secret of his own. And whatever comes to light, I will deal with it. That is what true leadership means. I’ve ordered Beroun’s head to be placed on a pike, and we’ll send the Saxons packing before a siege even begins. Camelot will be safe.”

Merlin felt giddy. He couldn’t wrap his head around everything that Arthur had just said, but whatever anger he had felt had dissipated. Arthur had freed Buonamico from Beroun’s extortions and had let him go despite the risks. He had believed the goodness in him, instead of seeing only evil.

“You are a good man, and you’ll be an even greater king,” Merlin said, positively lovesick. He regarded the prince with all the pride his heart could hold, and he felt his magic respond, eagerly trying to mingle with the flow of emotions.

Arthur tilted his head and studied him. “And yet, when we got out of the library… you thought I would throw you into the dungeons for following one of my orders.”

Abruptly, Merlin bit his lip. “I have had dreams of you ordering me to protect Camelot.” He sighed and stared at his hands. “I just always assumed it would be the end of me.”

***

There it was again, that look of deep apology in Merlin’s eyes that he couldn’t stand. There was more behind this. He just had to ask him. “Was it?”

Merlin scratched the back of his neck, where the hair was short. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he deflected as always.

But Arthur wasn’t satisfied. He had seen it with his own eyes. It was impossibly difficult to ask, and yet there might not be any other time to do so. He glanced towards the window, its frame inviting as always to shut out the impossible choices before him and give him peace of mind. But not today. Not when his feelings were so clear on the matter.

He turned to Merlin and asked him what he needed to know. “Tell me, Merlin, is it true that you have died?”

He believed Merlin’s surprise when he saw it. What he didn’t believe was his aloof reaction. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Arthur sighed. “You walked around with my marks on your neck until you fought Beroun.”

“So, this is about your claim on me?”

“I heard you threatening Buonamico! Tell me once and for all, because I have to know. Did you die?”

“Why is this so important suddenly?” Merlin asked.

“Because I need to understand! I want to know you, Merlin. How often have you died?”

Merlin was pale. He clearly didn’t want to say anything. “Why don’t you enjoy a bath, sire?”

"Enough!” Arthur called. “Tell me, how often have you died while you were at Camelot?"

Merlin looked hesitant. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of this, Arthur could see it in his eyes. "Five times," he admitted at last.

It felt like a hammer had struck Arthur’s chest to hear his confession. "And before?"

"Twice," he said, eyes downcast. His whole posture signalled to Arthur that the very word had been an effort to produce.

He felt helpless, and he couldn’t place it. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t ready to consider a world without Merlin, when he had only just begun to scratch the surface.  "Then I have failed you. Five times I have lost you already."

“No!” Merlin said and shook his head. “It's not your fault!"

Arthur wasn’t convinced. He looked at his hands, at the callouses collected after many hours of hard training. "It is my duty to protect those around me!"

All his life, he had known that one day he might die for his people. And he would do so, if it meant saving Camelot. It was the greatest gesture he could give. He felt torn to shreds that Merlin had suffered through that. He fought with his emotions, his tears, which threatened to topple him.

Merlin approached him and glared. "And it is my duty to protect you!"

Arthur didn’t want to hear it. It was all backwards.

Slowly, Merlin cupped his face and stroked his cheek. He looked Arthur straight in the eyes and said with fierce conviction, "I would die for you. Again and again if I have to."

Arthur closed his eyes and felt a treacherous tear roll down his cheek.

Merlin’s thumb gently stroked his jaw. He rested his forehead against Arthur’s and sighed.

“Ask me again,” Arthur whispered, gazing back at him intently.

“Ask what?” Merlin asked, puzzled. "I thought you never repeated yourself.”

Arthur grunted and closed his eyes. “Ask me if I’ve ever been in love.”

Merlin gave a soft chuckle. His grin was blindingly gorgeous, his crinkly eyes showing him true joy, before turning needy, hungry. His eyes lidded and his cheeks flushed.

Arthur claimed his mouth possessively. Merlin was his, completely his. Up to his soul. He pulled Merlin’s body against his own and indulged in kissing him and in feeling Merlin melting against him. He loved how Merlin responded to his kisses with small, breathy whimpers and how his hands clung to him. He loved the smell of Merlin’s skin, loved all of him.

He broke their kiss and moved in to claim his neck, firmly attaching his lips to Merlin’s pale skin. A groan rumbled through him when Merlin’s hand began stroking his erection through his breeches. He latched onto Merlin’s ear and heard him suck in a sharp breath, then calmed down to kiss his cheek. “At least now I know why your skin is so perfect, so beautiful.”

Merlin’s smile was shy. His stroking hand calmed down and he looked at Arthur with heavy lidded eyes. “You enjoy looking at me?”

His breath stuck in his throat, his hands uselessly plucked at Merlin’s shirt. “Yes.”

“I like to be watched,” Merlin breathed against his lips and kissed him once, twice, before pulling back. “I want you to.”

Arthur watched him go, feeling bereft of his hot touch on his skin. Slowly, Merlin began to step back. Arthur stayed put and simply observed. Merlin’s breeches did little to hide the signs of his affections. Merlin lifted his hands, and his shoes became undone, so he could step out of them easily. When the laces on his breeches became undone, Arthur wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, but he also wanted to enjoy the tantalizing distance between him. The tension teased him deliciously, and he appealed to his discipline to stay in place.

Right as Merlin’s breeches magically lowered to the ground, he pulled off his shirt. Once more, he stood naked, apart from the small leather bracelet that graced his slender wrist. He stood and looked at Arthur with the same pride in his eyes as when he had posed for Buonamico.

Slowly, but deliberately, Arthur lowered a hand into his own breeches to touch his swollen member. He watched as Merlin’s eyes fixed on the gesture, and saw how he licked his lips in response. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt his nipples tighten sweetly. Merlin’s dick stood upright, untouched, eager like before, all for him.

As he stroked himself, Merlin turned around. He padded over to Arthur’s bed lay down on his front and spread out languidly. The audacity of it tickled Arthur’s brain. When Merlin gave him an alluring look over his shoulder, Arthur could stand still no longer. He rid himself of the rest of his clothes and followed.

He approached the bed and sat down on the edge. His fingers trailed lines up and down Merlin’s back. His skin was soft and white and entirely unmarked by scars or blemishes. It was beautiful and pure. His fingers stroked more widely, all the way to his neck, into his hair, grabbing it, and then all the way down to his bum. He trailed the line of his crack teasingly until Merlin moaned and burrowed his head between his arms.

Feeling bold, Arthur dipped his fingers between Merlin’s legs and pushed slightly. “Spread them,” he said, his voice deep.

Merlin complied by spreading his legs.

Arthur felt his cock respond with a couple of thick twitches and stroked himself with his hand minutely before continuing with the task at hand.

“More.” Arthur pushed the legs out further, eager to see. Again, Merlin complied without hesitation. No quips or turning events where Arthur was suddenly at Merlin’s mercy. It gave Arthur pause to think. “You are powerful, Merlin. Why do you submit to serving me?”  

“Don’t you see, my lord?” Merlin asked and arched his back. “I serve you by choice.”

Arthur felt overcome by a strong urge to possess all of him. He reached out and took a hold of Merlin’s balls and reveled in hearing Merlin’s surprised, stuttering moan and squeezed ever so gently.

“Oh God, _Arthur_ ,” Merlin gasped and muffled another moan into the mattress, spreading his legs even wider.

He rubbed the soft skin and rolled Merlin’s balls through his fingers, watching how Merlin eagerly bucked against the bed. He leaned over and reached further, grabbing Merlin’s member, and pulled him off a few times. Merlin gasped and fucked into his hand, knees spread and digging into the mattress.

“Please,” Merlin begged, looking over his shoulder again. “Please, take me.”

Arthur climbed onto the bed and grabbed the soft insides of Merlin’s thighs, massaging the skin there and keeping him in place at once. He wanted to control him and dominate his body. He wanted to fuck him and hear him respond with his name, rolling helplessly from his lips. He grabbed Merlin’s arse cheeks and spread them, eyeing his prize.  

“Wait, I need to… Do you have any oil, or salve?” Merlin asked.

“No… can’t you… you know?” He was too aroused to speak properly.

Merlin shivered and writhed, pulling one of his arms up behind him. “I can do it… you can watch.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Arthur swore as he watched Merlin’s fingers reach down and play with his own arse. He didn’t even pause to think when the fingers lighted up and became coated with a golden substance. When two of Merlin’s finger entered himself, Arthur dug his fingers deeper into Merlin’s spread cheeks.

It was a slow, tantalizing sort of pleasure, watching Merlin work himself open for Arthur. All the while, Merlin’s eyes were on him, while he was focused intently on watching those fingers at work. He returned to stroking Merlin’s thighs and his balls, which seemed to work Merlin up even further. He was ready to burst.

At last, Merlin’s fingers left, and Merlin lifted his hips. Arthur positioned himself, more wound up than he had ever been. He slowly pushed in and felt the tip slide smoothly inside until the ring had caught it. Then he pushed further on, into that glorious heat.

He shuffled forward, placing his knees right inside of Merlin’s and felt the other’s legs trembling against his own. Merlin was gasping uncontrollably, clutching the blankets and the pillows over his head.

All at once, Arthur was overtaken by the extreme beauty of Merlin’s pale form against the Pendragon red sheets. It suited him, Arthur thought. To be consumed by Pendragon. Slowly, he began to move his hips, pulling out and pushing back in. He held onto Merlin’s arse and looked at himself entering Merlin again and again. He tried to keep it slow, he did, but when Merlin reached down and touched Arthur’s balls, all the reins were loose.

Arthur slammed his hips forward and fucked Merlin for all that he was worth, completing his claim and wringing desperate moans from his pouted lips. But Merlin still held his hands on Arthur, never fully letting him be in control. It wound him up more and he sped up, slapping his hips sweetly against Merlin’s.

“Ah, yes, yes, yes,” Merlin gasped and his hold on Arthur’s balls increased.

Merlin would never fully submit to him, Arthur knew. He felt at once overwhelmed for all that it meant… and might mean. Suddenly, Merlin clenched around him and groaned Arthur’s name, hips bucking in climax, and it was all Arthur needed. He pumped into him, powerfully and deep, threw his head back and came, engulfed by a powerful orgasm that drained all of his energy.

He collapsed onto Merlin and was entirely unable to move.

After a few moments, he felt Merlin turn around and pull him into an embrace. He submitted to it without question, burying his nose against Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin stroked his fingers through his hair and gently across his cheek, while murmuring sweet word into his ear.

“I love you, Arthur. I always will. You are my prince, my king. You are all that matters. I will never let anyone hurt you.” His words repeated over and over, soft and soothing.

“Just hold me,” he murmured back, then pulled Merlin closer, slipping away into a gentle sleep.


	13. Revisions

Arthur walked over the battlements, passing by the guards and soldiers ready to attack the Saxon armies that had arrived and stood scattered across the horizon. The soldiers nodded to him in respect, and the guards offered their reports. They were keeping their distance. Sir Leon, who had returned victorious from his skirmish on the western road, flanked him diligently.

Arthur stood at the centre of the battlements and looked out over the courtyard below, where more men had gathered. “The enemy is at our doorstep. They will be hungry and tired. And they will not be expecting our gates closed,” Arthur called out with a booming voice. On the steps to the castle he spotted Merlin, who looked at him as though he was life itself.

“Their leader misdirected us in the same way that Normans have attempted in the past. They sent us West. They sent us East. While their king infiltrated our Citadel.”

The people looked up to him. Across, his father stood on the balcony with Lady Morgana by his side. She looked positively regal in her dark red dress, her jewellery once more gracing her neck, hair, and fingers.

“Today, we will go out there and show them,” Arthur continued, bellowing down to his people. “We will not fall for their trickery!” He was pleased when a murmur began, agreeing with him. “We have already killed their king. And we shall take their armies down! The Saxons will never take Camelot!”  

The people around him on the battlements around him began to cheer. Down below, voices were loud, preparing themselves to rush out there.

Arthur lifted his sword to them. “For the love of Camelot!”

In unison, the voices shouted up at him, people waved their spears, shields, and swords, feet stamped and hands clapped.

“Open the gate!” Arthur called out.

Beside him, Sir Leon lifted his horn and blew it. Arthur had asked him to take the role of calling to his footmen, since they had had the earlier victory out on the field. It had surprised Leon, but he had bowed and taken the role gratefully.

In the distance, the Saxon warriors were paying attention to what was happening. They were orderless, scattered into groups instead of forming lines. They lacked vision and leadership.

The gate slowly rolled up, with loud metal croaks. When it was lifted, a single horse was slapped on the rear, sent forward with its only cargo strapped to its back.

That had been Arthur’s idea, proposed to his father, and based on one of the historical tales. Uther had been lenient that he hadn't completed his history test, purely on account of slaying yet another sorcerer. His papers had been found among the rubble and, absurdly, Geoffrey was grading them while Arthur prepared his men for war.

On the battlements, the soldiers stood ready with their bows and arrows, and the guards with their spears. The horse galloped down the familiar lane towards unfamiliar people. On its back it carried the remains of King Beroun, his two daggers hanging neatly in their sheathes, cleaned and well, from the horse’s neck. Beroun’s head still graced one of the pikes in front of the city, but none of the Saxons had dared to come that close.

When the horse came close to the strangers, it took them some time to approach it. Arthur had chosen a gentle horse, though he would be sorry if the beast would be slain. It only carried the message after all. King Beroun wasn’t strong enough, neither are you.

The Saxons began to respond and call to each other, panic clear in their actions as they decided whether the siege was worth it. It was unlikely that any survivors from the western road had joined them, so their forces were certainly smaller now.

“Now, Sir Leon,” Arthur called out.

Sir Leon blew his horn three times. It was the signal for his group of knights and soldiers to flank the Saxons from the North, riding out on horseback. It drove the foreign armies within the range of their archers.

“Ready… Loose!” Arthur called out. “Ready… Loose!”

It took two rains of arrows to cripple their remaining forces. By now, the horseback formation was too close, and their arrows might kill their own men.

Before midday, the threat of the siege was over.

***

Two days later King Uther offered a great feast in honour of Camelot’s most recent victory.

Prince Arthur and Sir Leon had run through the Darkling Woods in search of any hiding troops until they deemed the coast clear enough for smaller patrols. Though hardly any men had fought, and there were only a handful of injuries, the defeat of the Saxons ignited the fire in the hearts of all people in Camelot. The feast was raucous and jubilant.

The nearly finished painting of Prince Arthur, which resembled him in a rough, stylistic way, hung beside King Uther’s and Lady Morgana’s finished works. Despite several details missing, it was a fair work of art and would tell its own story throughout history.

Merlin followed Arthur when he left the dais and joined his knights at the lower tables. He remained silent while Arthur shared jokes with them and talked boisterously. He smiled to himself when Sir Bedivere and Sir Gwaine laughed heartily at the prince’s jokes and felt a sense of fierce price when Arthur rejected the attention of one of the maids.

In response to Arthur’s cup remaining empty, Merlin casually leaned in and filled it with a light red drink. One or two of the knights found it curious that Arthur was no longer favouring any of the women, but they found that soon the same attention turned to them. One way or another, the ladies would find their companionships or battle for their ranks if they wanted.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur asked after sniffing his drink.

“Strawberry cider, my lord,” Merlin answered and tried very hard not to grin.

“This is vile!” Arthur declared.

“I’m working on it,” Merlin whispered to him and stood back again.

Arthur shot him a curious glance over his shoulder and proceeded emptying the cup in one go.

Merlin’s heart danced with delight. He and Arthur now shared moments together every morning and every evening, and if possible in between as well. Whatever Uther had unleashed by limiting Arthur’s prowess was all there for Merlin to relish. His world felt complete, or close enough to it, knowing that Arthur loved him too.

“That’s it for now, I’m afraid. I must retreat.” Arthur slammed his cup on the table and got a couple of nods and greetings from his men. Sir Gwaine eyed him curiously, but decided not to speak. He and Beth had enjoyed a decent time, somewhere in the middle ranks, and Gwaine wasn’t going to let anything happen to that.

“Time to go,” Arthur said lightly to Merlin as he passed without a single glance. Merlin followed him out without hesitation. He knew their secret wouldn’t be hidden forever. Someone would figure it out. Someone like Gwen, perhaps, or Lady Morgana, who saw what others did not. Until then, they proceeded unquestioned.

Once in the hall, Arthur dragged Merlin out to the gardens where they kissed under one of the archways. Merlin could taste the terrible cider on Arthur’s tongue. They felt each other’s bodies and sampled skin with their mouths, until they saw the light of a patrol’s torch headed their way. They hastily made their escape back through the corridors.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked.

“There’s something I need to do,” Arthur said. “Come.”

Merlin followed him towards the catacombs where Arthur picked up a torch and led the way. “I wanted to ask you,” Merlin began. “What was the secret Buonamico told you?”

Arthur grinned. “I can’t _tell_ you that, of course.”

“No, I suppose not,” Merlin said. Their voices echoed against the cool stones as they descended further. “But what sort of secret was it?”

At last, Arthur paused and looked over a row of urns, stored on dusty shelves. “He told me his real name.”

Merlin blinked and felt a shiver go through him. He might have expected that. “Do you think he traveled to escape, as much as to paint?”

“Quite possibly. Here we go, hold this.” Arthur offered Merlin the torch and picked up an urn. “This way.”

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked him again.

Arthur turned to climb the stairs up to the gardens again. “You know, as I was listening to the old tales, there was one story that struck me the most. I heard him tell you about the great warrior Achilles and his servant Patroclus. When the young lover died in battle, Achilles was enraged. And I believe it.”

“Did you observe the similarities to you and me?” Merlin wondered aloud.

“Some, yes,” Arthur admitted. They walked silently through the garden gate to the cemetery. Arthur held the urn under one arm and passed the headstones in silence.

Merlin followed him quietly, watching how the flames caught the shapes of Arthur’s figure this way and that.

Arthur paused at last, regarding a headstone with clear inscriptions, near an old tree whose leaves whispered in the gentle evening wind. “The story I saw more fitting was not ours. It is a story that won’t be told by anyone, but it may yet be respected.”

“This is Sir Marcus’s grave,” Merlin remarked. The letters were clearly carved out, quite fresh, compared to many others around them.

“Sir Marcus, like Achilles, lost his mind after he lost his love,” Arthur said and knelt down. He placed the urn right next to the headstone. The letters in ink read Sir Timotei.

“You’ve put them together,” Merlin said, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s waist and sighed. Together they stood for several minutes honouring the significance of the battles these knights had fought, on and off the battlefield. When the wind picked up and the torch sputtered, Arthur steered them around and walked them back the way they came. If Merlin’s cheeks were wet, Arthur didn’t remark on it.

***

Arthur was fiddling with his mother’s ring, sitting in a chair on the other side of his desk. It was a few days since the feast, and there was a blessed rain covering the land, cooling it at last. Merlin was sitting in the desk chair and was reading to him from an old book about obscure countries, and Arthur was barely paying attention.

“Arthur!” a deep voice called.

“Yes, father!” he sat up straight and pulled his feet off the desk at once when he realized his father was in the room.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are you not on the training fields? Why is Merlin reading in your stead?”

Arthur slipped the ring back onto his finger. “He was testing me, father, on new historic subject matter. I have asked Sir Leon to do the afternoon trainings.”

“You are skipping your duties to your knights!” Uther called out.

“I can’t train the men _and_ be aware of the important tales of history, father! Besides, Sir Leon is well capable and needs the additional challenge.”

Uther looked at both of them and said stoically. “Your test results came in.”

At once, Arthur was to his feet. “How did I do?”

“Geoffrey says it was abysmal.”

Arthur’s heart sank. He had done his best after all.

“But it was better than expected,” Uther finished. “You passed, but only just.”

“Ha!” Arthur called out in joy. He looked at Merlin with cheerful delight, only to realize his mistake. He recomposed himself and calmed his voice. “You know that I was interrupted by an assassination attempt on my life?”

“Of course,” Uther said. “That’s why you will complete the remainder of your test before the week is out.”

“Father!”

“That is final, Arthur. I won’t tell you again.” Uther strode to the door and opened it roughly.

A messenger boy had just arrived with a letter and paled at the sight of the king. He bowed deeply and waited for the king to pass before tripping over his feet into Arthur’s chambers to deliver to him a rolled up note with a black lace tied around it.

“This came for you, sire,” the boy said.

“Who is it from? There is no seal.”

“I don’t know. The rider only said it was a gift.”

“Thank you. You may go,” Arthur dismissed him and waited until the boy had left before opening it. “Merlin, come and see this.”

The chair screeched over the tiles as Merlin pushed it back. “What is it?”

Arthur rolled out the paper over his side of the desk, behind the piles of books and held it flat with paper weights.

“Oh!” Merlin cried out. “He did it!”

The message was a charcoal sketch on thick paper. On it, they saw a picnic in a mountainous area in the late afternoon. On one side, there was a man sitting at an easel and working on art. Around him sat three women, who all resembled one another. One held a child in her lap, and the two younger ones were playing some game together.

Arthur felt Merlin’s hands fold around his shoulders and a kiss placed on his crown. “There’s something attached.”

In the corner, there was a small paper parcel sealed with the minimum of wax and no seal used. When Arthur took his knife and opened the parcel, it contained small, reddish seeds.

“I think these are for Gaius,” Merlin remarked. “That’s the last ingredient he needed to destroy the powder. These plants don’t grow here, so we would have needed to wait for the traders from Kent to come again.”

“Are you certain about destroying it?” Arthur asked. “Knowledge is power, after all.”

“Unequivocally,” Merlin said. “There is a fine line between power and abuse of power. I stand by my convictions.”

Arthur heard Merlin’s words. He wasn’t just talking about the golden powder, but about both paths laid out for them and the decisions they would both need to make in life. He offered Merlin the parcel and placed his hands on top of Merlin’s. “You are my voice of reason, Merlin. My vision, my centre. I hope you never change.”

Merlin leaned down to kiss him, before replying, “You are my whole world, always and forever.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: All mythological tales featuring in this work are put together through books, online research, as well as my memories of Latin and Greek classes in high school. I know different versions of some tales exist, and when that was the case, I chose what applied best for this story. If you feel that something is not depicted as you know it, please refer to online sources first. I tried to stay as accurate as possible. 
> 
> Note 2: Arthur regards Merlin’s skin to be white as milk, which is a reference to Pygmalion’s statue Galatea, whose name means ‘white as milk’. In Arthur’s view, Merlin is already desired. 
> 
> Note 3: All relevant painting materials and references to techniques are researched from books and online sources. I have not personally worked with any of these materials.
> 
> Final Note: All of this has been made possible by the [initial drawing made by Whimsycatcher](http://whimsycatcher.tumblr.com/post/161667625703), which caught my eye and immediately inspired for a voyeurism-themed story that begged to be written. If you enjoyed her art, please make sure you tell Whimsycatcher how absolutely amazing she is! Artists always need our explicit support and love!


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